The Memory Game
by GasmaskedMook
Summary: AU. After Zero assassinated Empress Marianne in 2015, the Britannian Empire fell to the EU and anarchy. Now it is 2019 and two amnesiac siblings called Lelouch and Nunnally are just trying to survive in this harsh new world. But destiny has other plans...
1. Chapter 1

Lifted from: The World In Pictures, September edition, 2014

PLA Forces are driven from Japan by the Knight of Six

Cover: Members of the victorious combined Japanese and Britannian Army pose in front of a destroyed Gun-Ru in the Japanese city of Shimonoseki. Left to right: Second Lieutenant Chiba Nagisa, First Lieutenant Urabe Kōsetsu, Sir Bart Darlton (front), Second Lieutenant Asahina Shōgo (behind), Captain Senba Ryōga, Sir David Darlton, Dame Viletta Nu, Viscount Kewell Soresei.

Top left: Japanese Army Colonel Kyoshiro Tohdoh (far left) meets with Brigadier Andreas Darlton (middle forward) of the Eleventh. Their respective forces held the line at Shimoneski long enough for General Cornelia li Britannia to arrive with the Eleventh's knightmares. Behind Darlton are four of his children: Sir Edgar, Sir Claudio, Sir Alfred and Sir David (left to right), all of whom (including Sir Bart who is not pictured) have been recommended for the Army Commendation Cross.

Top right: A panorama of Mt Fuji, Japan. Believed to contain the single largest sakuradite vein in the world, the mining rights to it were the corner stone of the Britannian-Japanese Agreement that resulted in Britannia's military intervention in the Second Pacific War. Critics of the agreement claim that Sawasaki is "pimping" out his nation to Britannia and it is only a matter of time before Japan becomes "just another Area like Indonesia or New Guinea".

Bottom Left: Commander of the Eleventh Army Corp and Knight of Six Marianne vi Britannia (centre) signs an official alliance with the Japanese. Prime Minister Atsushi Sawasaki (left) is shaking hands with Ambassador Leon Stadtfeld. Directly behind the Empress is her Knight of Honour, Jeremiah Gottwald. Also present are Second Imperial Princess Cornelia li Britannia (far right) and Taizo Kirihara (far left), the owner of Kiriahara industries and the chief financier behind the Sawasaki administration.

Bottom Right: The Royal Children play a game of tag in the rose garden while the treaty is being signed, joined by the heiress to the Sumeragi Conglomerate and the Ambassador's daughter. Left to right: Nunnally vi Britannia, Kaguya Sumeragi, Kallen Stadtfeld, Lelouch vi Britannia (front), Euphemia li Britannia (behind).

* * *

><p>Debriefing of Captain Anthony Milo - Archived Version<br>OSI Central Offices  
>1604 - 315/2015

Hogarth: Please describe what happened after that.  
>Milo: Gunship 4 caught sight of the target at Delta 12. My unit...<br>Hogarth: The Fourth Rapid Reaction Company.  
>Milo: Yes. The Fourth has two parts. The Knightmare Section which is led by Captain Soresi and the Air Cavalry Section which I lead. Both Sections were mobilised but mine was able to reach the target first.<br>Hogarth: What state was the target in at that time?  
>Milo: It had been hit several times by Gunship 4's ventral machinegun and crashed into a building site just after my unit's transports arrived. My men rappelled down and subdued the two men in the front seats.<br>Hogarth: Please identify them from these pictures.  
>Milo: These two.<br>Hogarth: For the record, Captain Milo has identified Naoto Stadtfeld and Nagito Sansa.  
>Milo: Stadtfeld? Is he related to the Ambassador?<br>Hogarth: Irrelevant. Continue with your report.  
>Milo: All right. After the men in the cab were subdued, I received a communication from Command stating that the truck contained sensitive material and that I was to return it to the custody of General Bartley Asprius as soon as possible. Command also mentioned that I was to be receiving reinforcements.<br>Hogarth: Reinforcements?  
>Milo: Two OSI Tactical Teams. And...<br>Hogarth: And?  
>Milo: And a child. Aged about thirteen.<br>Hogarth: A child?  
>Milo: He was a part of the OSI Tactical Teams. He was introduced as Special Agent Halliburton.<br>Hogarth: Are you sure?  
>Milo: It was really weird. He was only a kid and quite a scrawny one at that but those OSI troopers obeyed him like he was a four star general. And those OSI guys looked like ex-SAS.<br>Hogarth: Continue your report, Captain.  
>Milo: Sorry sir. The OSI teams brought a CV-11 Mule to pick up the truck's cargo...<br>Hogarth: Describe.  
>Milo: Three metres wide and about half that tall. Kind of looked like half of an old fashioned sea mine.<br>Hogarth: Continue.  
>Milo: When we tried to load the cargo into the Mule, the capsule split open. None of my men touched any of the controls or any other part of the capsule other than the transportation hooks. I can vouch for all of my men...<br>Hogarth: Continue.  
>Milo: Well, here is the strange thing. In the briefing, we were told that the terrorists had stolen samples of some sort of nerve agent. But instead, the capsule contained a girl.<br>Hogarth: A girl?  
>Milo: About seventeen. Green hair and golden eyes. She wore a prison jumpsuit complete with restraints.<br>Hogarth: What happened after that?  
>Milo: The OSI Teams started panicking. They ordered a XOO order on the whole of Shinjuku District. [note: XOO order is the utter extermination of an area's population. Normal for accidental release of biological agents or, in this case, when there may be witnesses to C.C.'s attempted escape] Then they grabbed the girl and tried to get her into the chopper. But one of the OSI men sort of seized up. His eyes glazed over and he began trembling. Then he started screaming. It was hard to make it out but he seemed to be talking about some sort of failed operation in Patagonia. Kept on telling "Peter" that he was sorry.<br>Hogarth: Did he mention anything else about this failed op?  
>Milo: I'm not sure. He said "Geass Order" two or three times but I'm not sure what he was referring to. Anyway, this was when things got even more weird.<br>Hogarth: Elaborate.  
>Milo: Well, you know this Rolo kid? One moment, he's standing off to one side. Then the OSI man is lying on the ground with two bullets to the head and Rolo is standing behind him, holding the Commando's own pistol. We didn't even hear gunshots or anything. It was like I was watching a movie and it had just glitched out part of it. Never saw a stranger thing in my life.<br>Hogarth: Indeed. Then?  
>Milo: Sorry. Then the OSI Tactical Teams loaded the girl into their chopper and disappeared. We radioed command to ask where our chopper was and they said it was engaged in the XOO order. We were ordered to hold position until transports could arrive. But instead, another four OSI Tactical Teams arrived and ordered us all to come with them.<br>Hogarth: I see. You are dismissed, Captain.  
>Milo: Sir? Can I just ask where this facility is and when I will be able to return to Fort Elizabeth?<br>Hogarth: Classified, Captain. You will be released in due course.  
>Milo: All right. Thank you, sir.<br>[door closes]  
>Hogarth: He saw too much. We can't afford to let anyone know about C.C. this soon.<br>[Retracted]: [over intercom] Indeed. Destroy Captain Milo's unit and give the bodies to Asprius. I'm sure he would appreciate it for his little Code R project now that he has C.C. back.  
>Hogarth: Yes sir.<br>[Retracted]: And start closing up shop. Our business in Japan is over.  
>[door opens]<br>Agent McCryle: Sir!  
>[Retracted]: What is it?<br>Agent McCryle: We've just got word. Empress Marianne has been assassinated!  
>[Retracted]: That fool! What was he thinking! I...<p>

[File Corruption - Unexpected end of file]

* * *

><p><strong>World Records 2015 Edition<strong>

Worst Peacetime Non-Natural Disasters

(1) The Shinjuku Poison Gas Attack  
>Date: 31 March 2015<br>Number killed: 12,419  
>Number wounded (sickened): 205,138<br>Perpetrators: Kōzuki Faction of the Japanese Independence Movement/Britannian Army  
>Facts:<br>- There is a great deal of confusion as to who released the deadly Sarin Gas into Shinjuku district. Britannian Army officials claim that the gas was stolen several hours before the bombing and then released by terrorists from the Kōzuki Faction but Japanese forensic experts claim that the canister found in Shinjuku was inappropriate for holding gas. Moreover the spread of the gas suggest it was dispersed from Britannian helicopters.  
>- Much of Tokyo had to be evacuated as a result of the gas and almost a hundred people died from trampling and motor accidents in their attempts to flee<br>- Britannian terror experts speculate that the gas attack was in fact a diversion used to sow the chaos necessary to infiltrate the Knight of Six's command post and assassinate her. Others claim it was designed to mask the massed casualties Britannian knightmare units inflicted on Japanese civilians during their attempt to secure the terrorist vehicle.

* * *

><p>Internal log of unit RPI-733 Gottwald, Jeremiah<br>1521 - 31/3/15

"To all Britannian Military Personnel actively serving in Japan, this is your commander: Field Marshal Marianne vi Britannia, Knight of Six and Empress of the Holy Britannian Empire. All combat formations are to leave Japanese territory at once. There is to be no destruction of Japanese property, nor any violence against Japanese civilians. I repeat: all active combat formations are to return to Hawaii post haste and to never set foot in Japan again. This is a Para Level 0 Order."

"My lady! What is the meaning of this?"

"Jeremiah?"

"My lady! Are you under duress? Please! I can be at the G-1 within two minutes..."

"'My children are perfectly well behaved'."

"What!"

There is soft laughter.

"My dear Jeremiah. Do you not remember our agreed non coercion signal?"

"Of course My Lady."

"It had to be something I would never normally say."

More soft laughter.

"Lelouch and Nunna would be so mad if they found out about that."

"My Lady?"

"Yes, Jeremiah?"

"I must ask what is your reasoning behind this withdrawal?"

"I assure you, Jeremiah, that this order is of the highest possible importance. Please, carry it out with the vigour and speed I have come to expect from you."

"Yes, My Lady!"

"And one more thing."

"Yes?"

"I..."

There are gunshots.

"My Lady!"

There is a whirr, commonly associated with an Yggdrasil Drive being tasked over capacity.

"Lord Jeremiah!"

"I don't have time for you, David. Lady Marianne is in peril!"

"I know! I am in the G-1."

"Is she all right?"

"The blast doors to the command centre are all closed. We need a few minutes to bore through."

"She could be bleeding out as we speak! We must get to her!"

"Hello?"

The voice on the radio is languid and mocking.

"Identify yourself!"

"I am the man who just put two bullets through the Knight of Six's skull."

"No! It can't be!"

"Some Knight of Honour you are, Lord Jeremiah."

There is a roar of rage.

"Who are you?"

There is laughter, cold and cruel.

"I am... Zero."

* * *

><p>Lifted from Die Ziet - 0604/2015

Britannia withdraws from Japan - Sakuradite shortages in the Empire seem likely

Despite Britannian public outrage at the assassination of Empress Marianne, the Eleventh Army Corps has continued its withdrawal from Japan.  
>According to Britannian units stationed in Tokyo, the late Empress ordered the retreat shortly before her death by the hands of Japanese nationalists who opposed the presence of Britannian Army units on Japanese soil. Critics accuse the dead Field Marshal (who also held the title of Knight of Six and was the Tenth Imperial Consort) of caving into the terrorist demands however her unique military rank means her orders can only be countermanded by the Emperor himself and Charles zi Britannia has been notably absent from public affairs over the last few years. Britannia's over-reliance on one autocrat appears to have back-fired in this case as even Prime Minister Weinberg lacks the authority to order the Eleventh back into Japan. On the ground, original reluctance to retreat has been replaced by near panic due to the actions of Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald, Lady Marianne's Knight of Honour. When he discovered that a unit in Nagasaki was not making plans to withdraw, he branded them as deserters and, when they attempted to argue, attacked them in person. Despite numerous accusations of mental instability from the death of his mentor, Lord Gottwald's infamous knightmare capabilities seemed to be intact as he systematically destroyed all twelve of the "mutinous" unit with only minimal damage to his own machine. Soon afterward, plans for withdrawal were accelerated and the last combat formations are expected to leave within the week.<br>This rapid retreat spells disaster for Britannia as its economy consumes well over 400,000 tons of Sakuradite ore each day, 82% of which comes from Japan. Without the protection of the Britannian Army, civilian businesses are fleeing the nation and anti-Britannian political movements are gaining power in both houses of the Japanese National Diet. The leader of the main pro-Britannian party and major part of the ruling coalition, Prime Minister Sawasaki, is under severe pressure to resign after it was discovered he authorised the Britannian counter-terrorism operation in Shinjuku, an operation which left more than 10,000 Japanese civilians dead and sickened 200,000 more. With the national consensus firmly against Britannia, the Empire may see its flow of sakuradite slow to a trickle over the next few months; a harsh economic reality that threatens Britannia's entire manufacturing and electronics industry.

* * *

><p>Date: 2-8-15<br>From: Brigadier General Symes, Field Headquarters of the Third Army Corp, Egyptian Frontline, North African Militarised Zone  
>To: Major General Upson, Imperial High Command - Logistical Office, Pendragon, Britannian Homeland<p>

Jake!  
>It's been a while since we last talked but I hope you haven't forgotten our tour in Area Nine together. I know that Nine girl doesn't. Ha! Seriously though, I came to you because the situation in Egypt is getting dire. General Alex doesn't want to admit it but those new Panzer Hummels are ripping us apart. His hesitation is kind of understandable: General Williams tried to say the same thing and was demoted three stars for his trouble. With the sakuradite shortages at home, the government wants military victory as a distraction but we can't give them victories without more energy fillers. Vicious circle.<br>Those Hummels are your worst nightmare in the open desert so we try and fight in the mountains or in the cities. It means we aren't shot down in a few seconds but that terrain is not exactly ideal for fuel efficiency and, to be perfectly honest, Command has put far too much faith in knightmares these past few years. Our regular armour and air force capacity is still tailing the Euries by a significant margin so unless you can figure out a way to wrangle us more sakuradite, we can expect to see all of Africa under EU colours by New Years.  
>As we are friends, I hope you'll take it to heart.<p>

Toby

* * *

><p>BBC News Report - Aired on 'Radio Pendragon' 2310/15

Marlow Station, Area Seven, has been attacked by Seven Terrorists of the Argentinean People's Army. Marlow Station is the one of the largest sakuradite mines in the Empire and reports suggest that production may be halted for several weeks. Terrorists managed to destroy two of the three main mine shafts, trapping nine Britannians and several dozen Sevens in the mines. Another twelve Britannian civilians were killed along with the station's compliment of forty soldiers. A lightning strike by SAS operatives was able to reclaim the facility after several hours but the Sevens inflicted serious structural damage on the delicate mining equipment required to extract the volatile mineral. Commander Jameson had this to say:  
>"The terrorists were armed with EU weapons and used tactics reminiscent of EU Kommandos. It is our belief that they received training and supplies from our enemies and that this attack was a violent ploy against Britannia by the European Special Operations Bureau. MI6 agrees with our analysis. We urge the public to remain calm and remember the Britannians who were killed in this underhand and deceitful attack. To our boys fighting in Africa, we send our deepest thanks and hope that you can bring those Euro bastards to justice."<p>

* * *

><p>Die Zeit - Editorial 2510/15

I suppose it is too much to ask Britannians to understand basic arithmetic. Is twenty one a bigger number than three hundred and twelve? Or twelve thousand, four hundred and nineteen? Your average Britannian would not know what those numbers mean. But the people of Lisbon know the first very well and the people of Tokyo will not forget the second. And they will not forget because that is the number of innocent lives Britannia has as carelessly stolen. St Francesco Hospital, 3-8-12. Shinjuku District, 31-3-15. Terrible tragedies perpetrated by the Britannian Military and approved by the House of Lords.  
>Do not misunderstand me. I do not wish to say that those twenty one Britannian civilian lives were worthless, even if they belonged to corrupt slave drivers who used their nation's racism to employ Argentineans at almost a tenth of a living wage. But Britannia needs to put things in perspective before it cries foul. More likely they are concerned by the drop in sakuradite production. Yesterday, Britannian Pound slipped to 0.71 of a Euro and 10.3 Yuan. Hyperinflation is becoming almost inevitable. I would celebrate if it didn't mean even more suffering for the countless millions still living beneath Britannia's yoke. For now, I will only pray.<p>

* * *

><p>The Third Man: an Autobiography of Clovis la Britannia<br>United Publishing House, Paris Office

I was watching the riots when the telephone rang. It was Guinevere.  
>"What is it?" I asked.<br>"Its Thomas Weinberg's fault." she spoke in that abrupt way of hers, not ever bothering to introduce herself.  
>"I don't see why Prime Minister..."<br>"It's the rationing. He should just open up the reserves and order a reinvasion of Japan."  
>I sighed. She had this way of seeing things. Sometimes it allowed her to notice things other people would take for granted but other times, it was almost childlike.<br>"Lady Marianne issued a Para Level 0 order. Only our father..."  
>"Our father has been missing for months. I think it is time we decided a new Emperor."<br>I was horrified. What she was suggesting was beyond court intrigue or Royal one-up-man ship. It was treason, plain and simple.  
>"Guinevere..."<br>"My Royal Guard is going out to the House of Lords. Carine and Thaddeus are already there."  
>Thing were spiralling out of control faster than I could have imagined. Royal Guard units in the House of Lords? That defiled one of Britannia's most ancient laws: the Magna Carta. Guinevere could not really think she could march in and force the nobility to obey her?<br>"Please..."  
>"I take that as a "no"."<br>"Guinevere! Think what would happen if..."  
>The line disconnected. As it did, a felt a growing unease in my stomach. Across the city, new fires flared to life and the St Darwin Street itself seemed to glow with flames. It was only a few minutes before I could hear gunfire. As it so happens, I had just experienced Britannia's last few minutes of peace.<p>

* * *

><p>Lucien,<p>

Our contact in Pendragon is forwarding some interesting stuff. Apparently of the Royal Children attempted a coup against Weinberg and crowned Guinevere as the new Empress. Weinberg managed to escape though and is mobilising the National Guard to fight for old Charlie. Most of the nobility supports him. I suppose it is because it's easier to line your pockets when the only man with the authority to prosecute you spends his days locked up in the palace. Still, Guinevere has most of the Royals on her side except for Cornelia, Clovis and Schneizel who have all gone missing. Odysseus tried to persuade everyone to calm down and caught a bullet for his trouble. He's limping all the way to political asylum in the EU. I am pretty sure Clovis is taking that path too. Cornelia went off hunting Zero in Japan but I have no idea what Schneizel is planning (I don't think anyone does...)  
>Still, from the looks of it this is going to be a very nasty civil war. If we capitalise on the moment, we might have a decent shot at taking the main government offices in one night. If we can persuade the EU to help, Quebec will be an independent nation in no time. I have friends in Strasbourg. They will make some waves and we'll see what the Hemicycle does. They hate Britannia almost as much as we do.<br>Be well. I'll contact you if the situation changes

Maurice

PS  
>I just heard. Troop transports are arriving in England. It seems the EU does have plans for a strike across the Atlantic. I'll have my best men make contact and see if we can co-ordinate our attack. This is really happening! Quebec will soon be ours!<p>

* * *

><p>Thursday 12 February<br>We were walking through Jamestown when the sergeant pulled me off to one side and asked me, his face deadly serious: "How loyal are you to Empress Guinevere?" I replied that I valued her above the lives of my own family. He smiled and said "Then duck." He then grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to the ground. A second later, the two knightmares accompanying us opened fire with their cockpit mounted machineguns. The entire squad was wiped out apart from me, the sergeant and three other men. I was almost pissing myself with fright. Turns out, Prince Thaddeus was planning something against the new Empress so she decided on a "pre-emptive strike". Thing is, half the Fifth Army got wiped out in that pre-emptive strike so we are going to have to call up the National Reserves and the Knight Police to have a chance against the Euries who have just attacked Area 2. It is quite astonishing how quickly the most powerful army in the world can collapse once it turns its guns on itself.

- Diary of Stephan Graham, 2nd Battalion of the New Hampshire Rifles

* * *

><p>Lifted from: "Modern Warfare - a History"<p>

Appendix XXI: A list of Wars between 2010ATB and 2017ATB

The Second Pacific War (2010-2011)  
>Belligerents: Britannia and Indonesia, Papua New Guinea<br>Theatre: South-east Asia  
>Decisive Battles: The Jakarta Landings, The Papua Campaigns<br>Result: Indonesia and New Guinea were defeated and became Areas 12 and 11 respectively.

The Second Atlantic War - African Theatre (2012-2016)  
>Belligerents: the EU and Britannia<br>Theatre: North Africa  
>Decisive Battles: The Invasion of Libya, the Second Battle of El Alemain, The Siege of Gibraltar.<br>Result: Initial Britannian victories which were rapidly overturned due to supply issues after 2015.

The Third Pacific War (2014)  
>Belligerents: the Chinese Federation and Japan supported by her Britannian allies<br>Theatre: Japan  
>Major Battles: The Siege of Fukuoka, the First Battle of Shimoneski, the Second Battle of Shimoneski<br>Result: Total Japanese/Britannian victory

The Britannian Civil War (2016)  
>Belligerents: Princess Guinevere su Britannia, Prince Thaddeus ni Britannia, Princess Carine le Britannia (senior commanders) and Prime Minister Thomas Weinberg<br>Theatre: North America  
>Major Battles: The Siege of the House of Lords, the Battle of Adamsville, the National Guard Mutiny<br>Result: Pyrrhic Royal Victory

The Twelfth War of Britannian Succession (2016)  
>Belligerents: Empress Guinevere su Britannia and Prince Thaddeus ni Britannia and Princess Carine le Britannia<br>Theatre: North America  
>Major Battles: The Aries Palace incident, the Pendragon Bomb Plot, the Battle of Mt Hood<br>Result: Indecisive. The EU intervened before any side gained a notable advantage.

The Second Atlantic War - American Theatre (2016-2017)  
>Belligerents: the EU and the Britannian Empire<br>Theatre: North America  
>Major Battles: The Battle of the Orchards, The Siege of Boston, The Pendragon Offensive<br>Result: Total EU victory

* * *

><p>The Triumph of Liberty - The Fall of the Holy Britannian Empire<p>

The Battle of the Orchards

On paper, the Battle of the Orchards would appear a limited engagement of little consequence yet most analysts describe it as the pivotal battle of the Second Atlantic War, comparable to the Second Battle of Warsaw or even the El Alamein Offensive.  
>Three things make the Battle of the Orchards unique. For a start, it was the first time foreign troops had fought a battle in the Britannian homeland since the Seven Years War (discounting mercenaries who fought during Washington's rebellion). This proved to be a significant blow to Britannian morale and goaded Guinevere into marching north before she was fully prepared. Secondly, it conclusively discredited the Britannian belief that knightmare frames could be deployed en masse, without air or infantry support. The EU commander, Lieutenant Adler Rommel (grandson of the famous general of the First Atlantic War) was able to rout the Britannians using conventional armour assets and excellent planning, forcing the Britannians to choose between advancing on his platoon of helicopter gunships which were harassing the Britannian flanks or charge down the barrels of eight Jaguar Kampfpanzers further down the valley. The Britannian knightmares went after the tanks and became bogged down in the middle, checked by half buried chaos mines and precision artillery strikes.<br>Such a humiliating defeat for the seemingly invincible Royal Panzer Infantry forced Britannia onto the defensive for the rest of the war, having lost initiative that mobile all-knightmare units provided.  
>Yet perhaps the most ominous feature was that the Battle of the Orchards was the last battle which Britannia fought entirely with conventional weapons. In subsequent battles: Hill 11, the Siege of Boston and the clearing of the Pendragon catacombs, Britannia began deploying bizarre and inhuman weapons, results of their disregard for the lives of so-called "Numbers" and willingness to use them as guinea pigs in macabre "scientific" experiments. It is a result of these appalling weapons of last resort that large parts of the former Britannia Homeland were rendered completely uninhabitable. While Chemical K and Sarin Gas probably killed the most, what this period is remembered for best are the Revenants.<p>

* * *

><p>This is a notice to all European soldiers on the American front.<p>

There have been a number of rumours circulating and they have been having a detrimental effect on unit morale. We have decided that the best way to quash these rumours is with the truth, however ugly it may be.  
>First, we would like to stress that the Britannians are NOT capable of causing the dead to "live again". The basis for these rumours is a particular section of the Britannian Army referred to as Code R or, more frequently, the Order Revenant.<br>Revenants are NOT "undead", nor are they to be considered alive. They are repurposed corpses which, through invasive and inhuman cybernetic modifications, have regained basic motor functions and are used by the Britannians as shock weapons. Three types of Revenant have been reported.  
>The first is described as the Mark VII. It is the most common and the most basic of all models. It possesses no armour and can be incapacitated much like any normal human. Due to it being controlled robotically instead of by a sentient being, it may require a greater degree of punishment than normal but they are neither supernatural, nor any more of a threat than any of the targets you were taught to face during training.<br>The second type is less common but more dangerous. Unlike the first which are mass produced on the frontline, this type (Mark IV) is "built" in specialist facilities, off of the front line. The Mark IV is notable for its subdermal armour plating and servo reinforced joints. They are capable of surprising acts of physical strength and may resist a greater degree of punishment than expected. HOWEVER all EU small arms using the modern 7x55mm round WILL be capable of penetrating their armour within 200 metres. Mark IVs are armed with two sets of titanium sheathed claws which are bolted to the forearms. Due to the above average strength of the Mark IV, they will be capable of penetrating standard combat armour. It is highly advised to engage these targets in the open and with concentrated small arms fire. They WILL show up on all common infra-red goggles but normal "chaff smoke and thermal goggles" tactics are inadvisable. Knightmare pilots should note that self-igniting flechette rounds have proved highly effective, even more so than standard mercury tipped anti-personnel munitions. Also be aware that the rumour that Revenants can only be killed to a shot to the head is incorrect. In fact, they will be far more resistant to such shots than normal people as they are controlled through the spinal cord, not the brain.  
>The third type of Revenant is perhaps the most elusive. They appear to be similar to the Mark IV but are capable of speech. This is NOT to be taken as a sign that the corpse is aware, instead it shows a greater degree of cybernetic implants and therefore an even greater defilement of those unfortunate men and women. All sightings of any of these types should be reported to Command at once and the recovery an intact or partially intact Type 3 is to be considered a level 2 priority objective where applicable.<br>It is important to note that the Britannians seem ready to use any available corpses, including those of dead European personnel. If you meet an animate version of someone you knew DO NOT HESITATE. The corpse is only being used as a weapon. It is NOT the person you remember. It is imperative that you understand that it is better to end Britannia's horrific defilement of our loyal soldiers' corpses than to pursue the delusion that the person you remember has returned. Such actions endanger both you and your fellow soldiers.  
>I hope this news brings better understanding of Britannia's latest and most disturbing weapon of war. Remember your oaths and stay strong. Millions of innocents look to us for their liberation from Britannia's tyranny. We will not fail them.<p>

Generalfeldmarshal Wilhelm Stahl

* * *

><p>"To any Britannian units still alive out there, this is Major Joseph Fenette. We're currently... [static] ...seum of Manifest Destiny on St Darwin Street. The Krauts took Number 10 a few hours ago and we've got Russkie infantry all over us... GET BACK TO YOUR POST THIS INSTANT SOLDIER! [gunshots] We are running out of ammunition and medical supplies. We will not be able to hold our position [static]...ew hours. If there are any units still in Pendragon, please give us some support. If the Mus... [loud burst of noise and static] WE'VE GOT PANZERS! WEST WING, ALL OUR ANTI-KNIGHTMARE WEAPONS! GO! GO! Requesting immediate air support! Please! Anyone? For the love of God, please! RUSSKIES IN THE MAIN LOBBY! [massed gunshots then screams] KEEP FIRING, KEEP FIRING GODDAMNIT! [more gunshots] Fuck! Oh God that hurts... No! I don't need a medic! Go help someone who needs it! I... I... [faint] Shirley? Is that you, Shirley? Don't worry. Daddy's here. Don't be afraid, Shirley... I'm here for you... [gunshots and static]<p>

* * *

><p>I am Sergei Mikhailovich Ershov, Führer of the European Ultra-union and President of the Central Hemicycle. Today's special meeting of the Central Hemicycle has been called to recognise one of the most important developments in modern geopolitics ever encountered by this Council.<br>At 0900 hours this morning, Generalfeldmarshal Wilhelm Stahl met with Dorothea Ernst, Knight of Four and Supreme Commander of all Britannian Homeland Defence Forces. Lady Ernst agreed to surrender unconditionally to the EU, to relinquish all of Britannia's colonial holdings and to hand over "Empress" Guinevere and all other surviving members of the Royal House to the Hague, pending trial for Acts of Tyranny. I was surprised to see such a high ranking Knight agree to our terms however as it turns out, Lady Ernst led a mutiny against the Royal Family when she discovered the full extent of their crimes against their own people. It would appear that Lady Ernst wanted Britannia's end to be one of chivalry instead of one of cruelty and depravity. For that action, I cannot help but feel gratitude.  
>I wish I could say that this news fills me with joy. Indeed, the liberation of so many millions from Britannian oppression is a truly wonderful occasion. Yet I hope we will not let our celebrations prevent us from remembering all those brave men and women who gave their lives so that this day could come. The Second Atlantic War will go down in history as the bloodiest war of the past century, eclipsing even our own Unification War in terms of civilian deaths. Including the War of Britannian Succession that was being waged when our armed forces intervened, more than ten million civilians lost their lives. Forty thousand of those were from missile attacks on European and African cities by the Royal Navy and the Royal Britannian Air Force but the rest were a consequence of Britannia's cruelty and willingness to deploy chemical, biological and sakuradite based strategic weaponry without reason or consequence, even against their own people. Millions more have since died of starvation due to Britannia's gross over-reliance on "Areas" for sustenance. This is not a day for celebration, not after so many lives have been lost. But perhaps we can be glad that the nightmare that was Pax Britannica is now over for the people who have lived as "Numbers" beneath Britannia's tyranny.<p>

To those people, I give my solemn word: the Holy Britannian Empire is finally dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Since most people found my prologue a little confusing, I decided to write flat out and give you a taste of the actual story while I still have my weekend. So here it is. Hope it is slightly less muddled than the first bit.

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><p>Even after the better part of six months wandering the West Coast, Suzaku still found himself surprised at how medieval the place had become. It was understandable; Britannia had always relied on its conquests for industry and sustenance. When the former Areas were liberated by the EU or the Chinese, those productive, self sufficient colonies adapted easily to nation-hood. Britannia on the other hand, borne up solely by the works of others, had collapsed. The people may have known how to build high-end electronics or manage a business but were for the most part clueless about growing their own food or even repairing their own machinery. And no-one wanted to trade with the former Britannian homeland. Even if they had anything to offer, most would snub them anyway. So the citizens of what was once the wealthiest nation on Earth found themselves burning logs to keep warm. Their high tech sakuradite-based power plants were shut down, from lack of fuel or by soldiers from the EU. Electricity rapidly became a fairy tale. Suzaku remembered reading an article before he left Japan. Britannia's main export was now salvage and its main import (excluding the thin trickle of foreign aid that was more an extra humiliation than a genuine show of goodwill) was ammunition.<p>

Knowing all this, he still was shocked when he stopped at the tiny settlement of Eagle's Rook, Oregon and saw the collection of wooden huts with little cooking fires and half naked children. If it wasn't for a few sorry reminders of their past glory: a sagging flag being used as a rain cover, plastic shopping bags being used as clothing and hoarded piles of tinned food, Suzaku could have mistaken them for a town from the Hundred Years War. He felt out of place here, even if his clothes were cheap polyester and not the silk of his childhood. Their sunken eyes watched him pass, grey spectres watching this modern-day Orpheus in the land of the dead. He shuddered at the thought. He felt a tug at his shirt and saw a small child pulling at the cloth. The child's filthy hair was cropped short and it was only when she spoke that Suzaku realised she was a girl.

"Where are you from, Mister?"

Suzaku lent down and smiled at her.

"I am from far-away."

She nodded, her brown eyes serious.

"Did you come in that airship?"

Suzaku followed her finger and noticed the curvature of a bright white gasbag over the settlement's low rooftops.

"Yep. It's called the Lancelot. Pretty impressive name for a rickety bucket of bolts but she does just fine."

"She? But you said his name was Lancelot!"

Suzaku scratched the back of his head and chuckled.

"I suppose it's a kind of weird way of doing it. But boats are all "shes" and to be honest, I didn't name her. The person who did must have had a reason for it..."

"Angela! Get away from that filthy Twelve at once!"

A woman appeared from one of the houses, ironically in a worse state of personal hygiene than the boy she was insulting. Suzaku bristled at her language. Proud to the bitter end.

"I am not Indonesian, ma'am. I am Japanese."

The woman's mouth dropped open in horror.

"You are one of those lowlifes who killed Lady Marianne! Your ungrateful nation sold us out to the EU behind our backs! This entire thing is YOUR fault."

Suzaku winced inwardly at her words. They struck closer to home than he would have liked. But he would not show weakness in front of such a miserable woman.

"Think that if you must. I will not argue with you."

He turned to leave but the woman grabbed his shoulder.

"Hey! Don't talk down to me, you degenerate! My..."

At her touch, Suzaku grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her to spin backwards. She fell hard on her behind, producing a very un-ladylike grunt as she did. Suzaku looked at her, his green eyes hard and angry. Then they softened slightly and he walked away, suddenly ashamed.

He strode off in the direction of the only worthwhile construction in the whole gloomy settlement: the Rookery.

Since gasoline and sakuradite were all but unheard off outside of strict rationing in the EU "Pacified Zones", the only mechanical tools that were not powered by men or horses were steam engines. Able to run off of just about anything, these loud clunky machines could only be effectively used on boats or small hydrogen based airships. The West Coast was filled with the ungainly craft, traders who would go from settlement, hauling salvage and exchanging trinkets for a decent meal and a warm fire to curl up by. Suzaku counted himself among them. It was a hard life but it was simple and honest, much like the boy in question. This early in the day however, there was only a handful of people inside the building. The Rookery was one of the pre-war buildings still in a decent state of repair, mainly because the owner, a grizzled war veteran called Montague, allowed anyone to stay as long as they helped fix part of the building. It had been a bar before the war though its name was forgotten. Montague was behind the counter, ladling out thimblefuls of the locally brewed potato vodka into a mismatched collection of shot glasses, tea cups and hollowed out pieces of wood. Two locals sat at the counter, gazing mournfully at the cracked mirror behind Montague's head. In the corner, a man in patched finery played some sort of board game against a figure with his back to the door. They were watched by two figures, both with their hoods up though one was on the other side of the room and the other was sitting at the same table. Suzaku made his way over to the bar.

"Cranberry juice."

"Go to hell, Suzaku."

Usual introductions over, Montague leaned over and gave Suzaku a crooked smile.

"How did the Vancouver Run go?"

"Not too bad. It helps that I'm not Britannian. The people up there are still pretty uppity about dealing with their former..."

Suzaku struggled to find a word.

"Overlords?"

"Yeah, sure. Overlords."

Montague passed Suzaku a tea cup but he waved it away.

"It's barely three in the afternoon."

The barkeep shrugged his large shoulders and slid the cracked piece of china to one of the locals who downed it in one gulp. Behind them, the man in tattered noble finery gave a loud snort.

"You're moving your king?"

Suzaku gestured over his shoulder at the table.

"What's going on over there?"

"Oh, him? He's some big shot former nobleman or something. Calls himself the Black King. Strolled into town yesterday and challenged our regulars to a game of chess. Turns out he's pretty good. Won enough to pay for two bottles of the Rookery's finest."

"Chess?"

Suzaku pivoted around on his seat and peeked at the chess game.

"Looks like he's losing this one."

Montague shrugged again.

"Good. His ego was beginning to wear on me. Who's beating him?"

Suzaku turned back to the ex-soldier.

"I can't see. Don't you know him? You generally know just about everyone who comes into this place."

"Didn't give his name. Pretty unfriendly chap. His sister's a bit better; she offered to fix the boiler in exchange for two nights. Nunnally, I think she said. She's the one under the cloak. He's awfully protective of her. Not surprised. Pretty young things like her don't last long out here."

"I suppose. Still..."

"WHAT IS THIS?"

The 'Black King' leapt to his feet, overturning the chessboard in the process. Pieces flew everywhere. The hooded girl flinched a little but the man with his back to Suzaku did not seem to notice the man's rage. The furious former-nobleman leant over the table and grabbed the man opposite by the collar.

"YOU CANNOT HAVE BEATEN ME!"

"BACK OFF!"

Montague had pulled his Enfield from under the counter and the heavy rifle was pointed firmly at the suddenly pale chess player. Suzaku's hand was also at his belt though he knew Montague was more than capable of handling the situation.

"NO FUCKING VIOLENCE IN MY BAR, UNDERSTAND?"

Suzaku tried not to undermine the effect by smirking at the obvious irony of a muscle-bound ex-Royal Marine with an Enfield lecturing someone about violence. The 'Black King' got the message and fled the Rookery, not even bothering to recover his chess set. His former opponent picked it up instead and folded it into a dirty rucksack. Montague waved him over and, after some wrist pulling on behalf of his cloaked sister, the man walked over to the bar. Now that Suzaku could see him properly, he could see that he was not as old as he thought he was. The boy looked barely twenty and there was something about his violet eyes that Suzaku could not place. The boy gave Suzaku and Montague a suspicious look but his sister was more outgoing. She pulled off her hood, letting a cascade of long brown hair fall out and looked at them with kind blue eyes.

"Thank you for that, Mr Montague."

The ex-Marine chuckled.

"No problem, Miss Nunnally. It's in my interests to keep the riffraff out of my bar."

Suzaku chipped in.

"I think he enjoyed it. He doesn't get to flash that Enfield as much as he likes."

Montague gave Suzaku a cuff to the head that would have sent most people sprawling.

"Sorry about Suzaku. He doesn't know when to keep that big mouth of his shut."

The brown haired Japanese snorted at that and offered his hand.

"My name is Suzaku. It's good to meet you, Nunnally."

Her brother let out an angry noise at their contact, causing Nunnally to roll her eyes.

"Introduce yourself."

He ignored her, still starring daggers at Suzaku for his presumed defilement of his sister's innocent hand. The girl looked at him and repeated herself more forcefully. He sighed and offered his hand.

"Lelouch Lamperouge."

Behind them, the other hooded figure rose. Its voice chords seemed to have been damaged as it could only produce a harsh whisper as it spoke.

"Lelouch... Lelouch..."

In two strides, it was at the bar. The assembled people turned as the figure approached.

"Lelouch... Lelouch..."

Suzaku stood.

"Sorry?"

In a flash, the thing knocked the Japanese boy aside and leapt towards Lelouch. Nunnally screamed and there was a deafening blast. Suzaku stumbled to his feet and saw Montague holding his Enfield to his shoulder, the barrel smoking. Lelouch was sprawled on the ground a few feet away, paler then before but seemingly unharmed. The cloaked figure lay on its side on the concrete. Slowly, slowly, it stood itself back up. Its hood had fallen off, revealing a face that was simply a hideous mess of wires and pallid flesh. Two eyes stared at Montague, one a mechanical camera lens, the other a bloodshot human one nestled in a gunmetal socket. Suzaku stared.

It was a Revenant.

"Holy..."

Montague's sentence was cut off as the monster threw itself on the burly ex-Marine. There was an appalling gurgle and then the barkeep slid to the ground, his apron stained with blood and his rifle slipping from his nerveless fingers. The Revenant turned its mismatched eyes on Lelouch and Nunnally who lay in a horrified heap on the ground.

"OVER MY DEAD BODY!"

Suzaku grabbed them both by their shirts and pulled them to their feet.

"RUN!"

As if shaken out of a reverie, the two began to move. Suzaku half dragged them from the bar and into the open air. Behind them, the Revenant quickly dispatched the bar's other two patrons.

"Psst!"

Suzaku looked to one side and saw the girl who had asked about his airship. She gestured for them to follow and Suzaku gave the Lamperouges a solid push in her direction. The girl led them behind the bar and through a winding path through the collapsed buildings of the old town centre.

"Come on!"

The girl hissed, nimbly avoiding slippery piles of fallen masonry. Behind them, the sound of gunfire told them that the rest of Eagle's Rook had realised the threat. But what could they do? It had moved _so_ fast! That Lelouch was beginning to flag, his breath coming in short gasps. Suzaku could not help but wonder how such an unfit person could survive in such a violent place as the West Coast. The local girl called over her shoulder to Suzaku.

"You want your airship, right?"

He nodded and she took a sharp right turn. After only a moment, the white gasbag of the Lancelot became clear through the rubble. Suzaku silently thanked himself for not deflating the gasbag. As it was, the bulbous airship was only tethered to the ground by a few mooring ropes.

"Quickly!"

The gunfire had since ceased. Suzaku hoped it meant someone had killed it but after seeing the Revenant hit point-blank by Montague's Enfield, he knew it was not likely. Either the Revenant had slaughtered the entire settlement (something almost too horrible to think of) or it had realised where they were headed and was following.

The slipknots came away with a practiced tug. As the airship began to strain at the remaining ropes, Suzaku realised the local girl was still standing on the ground.

"Hey! You can't stay here! That monster will..."

The girl shook her head firmly and then ran off. Suzaku was about to run after her when he heard Nunnally shout something. He turned and froze. The Revenant stood in front of them. Its mutilated face stared at them with a horrible emptiness. Finger like blades extended from its hands, dripping in gore. As Suzaku watched, it threw its head back and roared like some terrible beast.

"Lelouch!"

It charged for Suzaku but the boy was quicker. Grabbing hold of the last mooring rope, he drew a blade from his belt and cut the rope at the bottom. The thick strands parted and the airship shot up, Suzaku clinging to the heavy rope as it did. Doing so almost dislocated his shoulder but, seeing the blur of the charging Revenant slash at the place he had been less than a second before, he did not regret it.

"Pull me up! Quickly!"

The Lamperouge pair recovered quickly, heaving on the rope to pull Suzaku into the gondola. There was much huffing and Suzaku suspected that Lelouch's contribution was mainly cosmetic but the job was soon done and Suzaku was at the controls of the machine. He struggled to regain control of the unwieldy airship for a moment but the twin propellers started to turn and then the machine was responsive once again. They were still flying low so Suzaku vented some hydrogen from a tank into the main gasbag and the airship began to climb. By this time, Lelouch and Nunnally had made their way into the cockpit.

"What was that?"

Suzaku gave the boy a sideways look.

"You never have seen a Revenant before?"

Nunnally shook her head and while her brother gave no indication, his question was answer enough. Still, most people had at least heard of a Revenant. Suzaku had known what they were before he even came to Britannia. For someone to be so clueless was... weird.

"Are you Britannians?"

They exchanged glances before replying.

"Yes."

"And have you been living under a rock for the past three years?"

There was an awkward silence. Then the airship jerked to one side, throwing everyone off their feet. Suzaku pulled himself up and saw something he did want to see.

The Revenant was clinging to the port engine pod. It must have climbed up one of the taller buildings and jumped when the airship passed by. That was part of what was so scary about the Revenants. They were afraid of nothing.

Suzaku dashed back into the main gondola and retrieved his blade from by the door. Lelouch followed him, an appalled look on his face.

"You aren't planning on fighting that thing with just a sword!"

Suzaku threw open the door.

"Yes I am. And it is a katana."

Then he pulled himself out onto the port strut. The Revenant had disappeared and unless it had fallen off (and Suzaku was not enough of an optimist to think that very likely) or it had crawled onto the top of the gasbag. Suzaku gripped the folding aluminium ladder that was attached to the side of the craft and began pulling himself upwards. The curve of the gasbag made going difficult at first but then he rounded the side and stood on the top. The Revenant watched him clamber up, not attacking. Suzaku stood quickly and raised his katana.

"Why did you not attack?"

The monster looked at him and for the first time, the human eye seemed to go into focus.

"No... honour..."

Suzaku looked at it, confused. Revenants were mindless weapons, crude computers hijacking a human corpse. Honour should be beyond something like it. He shook his head, the rage returning.

"You killed Montague. He was a good friend to me."

The Revenant did not seem to hear. Instead it spoke again in that harsh whisper.

"Lelouch... Lelouch must die... Do not stop me..."

"Sorry. But no-one else dies today."

"Fool..."

The Revenant charged, its cruel metal claws covering its face. Suzaku side stepped its first thrust and slashed towards its neck, only for his blow to be deflected by the thing's claws. He recovered just in time to block a swipe that might have disembowelled him. The Revenant was unnaturally strong but Suzaku was an incredibly skilled martial artist. The monster's violent swipes were deflected or dodged. It could find no opening in the Japanese boy's defence as they circled each other on the taunt material of the gas bag. The Revenant leapt forward, a flurry of blows forcing Suzaku on the defensive. Their blades sparked where they met, horrifying Suzaku as he remembered they were standing on a giant balloon of hydrogen gas. The realisation cost him and his grip slipped on the katana's handle as he attempted to parry another bear-like slash. He tried to recover but the Revenant drove itself forward, knocking him to the ground. It tried to finish the job with a vicious downward thrust but Suzaku kicked its legs from under it and it fell bodily to the airbag's bouncy surface. Suzaku recovered quickly but so did the monster, its eyes hungry and its claws sliding against each other as if impatient for blood.

"Step aside..."

It hissed.

"No-one else dies today."

Suzaku repeated. The Revenant's shapeless tear of a mouth snarled and it charged again. Its speed was frightening and Suzaku barely had time to think before he was under attack from all sides. The Revenant's metal claws were everywhere, swiping and slashing with the same, inhuman strength. Its offensive was so single minded that Suzaku was able to land a few blows on the machine but his blade only glanced off armour plating. But he quickly was forced onto the defensive, drowning beneath the sheer volume of blows directed at him. His wrist was beginning to turn numb and his forearms were screaming in pain. It was too strong, too fast. His counters became sluggish and weaker. The Revenant was able to land a partial strike on his shoulder, which drove him to greater strength for a moment before hampering him. As his mind began to cloud with fear, the Revenant hooked Suzaku's leg from under him, almost like Suzaku had done moments before. The Japanese boy fell onto the gasbag. He tried to strike the monster's legs but it brought its foot down on Suzaku's wrist.

"Fool..."

It whispered.

"Murderer!"

Suzaku spat. It looked at him, the human eye almost sad for a moment. Then...

"Hey! Tube-face!"

The Revenant looked up from the fallen Japanese. Nunnally had climbed onto the top of the gasbag. As both the fighters watched, she pulled something from inside her cloak.

It was a revolver.

"No-one attacks my brother!"

The brown haired girl fired and the Revenant staggered slightly. It had hit it in the very centre of mass, where the heart would be for a normal human. She fired again and it stepped backwards, off of Suzaku's wrist. Before he could move, the girl fired another two shots in quick succession, causing the Revenant to stumble and fall on knee. It looked at her, its human eye filled with... adoration?

"Mistress Nunnally..."

She fired the last two shots and the force knocked the Revenant over. It flailed almost comically before slipping from the edge of the gasbag and into the abyss.

* * *

><p>"Nunnally! Are you all right?"<p>

"I'm fine. Suzaku doesn't look good though..."

The Japanese boy shook his head.

"I'm OK. Just a cut to the shoulder. There's a first aid kit under the console there."

Lelouch retrieved it and the two Lamperouges began bandaging Suzaku's wound.

"Nunnally?"

"Yes, Suzaku?"

"Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

The girl blushed.

"Oh, that? I suppose I just picked it up..."

Suzaku frowned. There was definitely something those two weren't telling him.

"Listen, if you have a problem, you can trust me. I must admit, I am curious as to why a Revenant is after you, Lelouch."

The boy gave Suzaku a dirty look.

"It is not that easy."

Nunnally gave a weak smile that did not seem to reach her eyes.

"What brother means to say is that... Even if we knew what that thing was and why it wanted to kill us, we wouldn't be able to tell you."

Suzaku bristled a little. He had just saved them from getting mauled by a goddamn Revenant! The least they could do is offer a little trust...

"It's not you, Suzaku."

Her soft words melted his anger like ice in ones hand.

"It's just... we can't remember anything about our lives before a few days ago. We just woke up by the side of a lake and had no idea who we were or where we came from. Brother thought it was some sort of temporary amnesia. There was a crashed truck nearby so we assumed we had got concussion in the crash and that it would wear off. But it hasn't and we're starting to get really scared..."

Tears began to build in her soft blue eyes. Lelouch finished bandaging Suzaku and went to comfort her. He turned to Suzaku and finished her sentence.

"We are afraid we may never remember who we really are."

Suzaku stood, a determined gleam in his eye. They both looked at him, confused.

"I think I can help you."

He walked over to the controls and pulled a map from under a mug half filled with cold tea. He spread it out in front of them and they leaned in. Suzaku reached out with his finger and pointed towards a collection of buildings circled in red.

"We're going to Academy."

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><p>Two hundred feet below, a lone figure darted through the forest. Their feet made almost no noise as they moved through the undergrowth. Suddenly, it stopped and stood as still as a statue. For a moment, the very forest seemed to hold its breath. Then the figure began to move. Slowly, it pulled a high calibre sniper rifle from a strap on its back and raised it to its shoulder. The stillness returned and then was torn apart by the loud crack of the rifle. The figure quickly returned the weapon to its back and pulled out a pistol. It ran forward through the trees, following its bullet. Caution was a thing of the past now. Leaves crunched beneath its hurried footfalls and twigs snagged at its clothing. Then at last, it came into a small clearing. Lying in the middle was the sprawled figure of a Revenant. The figure raised its pistol as it approached, its steps slowing. Eventually, the figure was right beside the fallen machine. A quick check seemed to confirm the thing's demise as the figure pulled an ugly, syringe like tool from a pack and tried to insert it into the Revenant's neck. But before the needle could even break through the pallid skin, the machine had grabbed the figure by the throat and slammed them heavily into a pine tree. The figure let out a gasp of pain and the hood slipped off. The Revenant's human eye widened.<p>

"Lady... Alstreim?"

The girl looked at the Revenant with emotionless red eyes.

"Who are you?"

The machine faltered, the human parts of its face furrowing in concentration.

"I... am... Gottwald..."

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><p>AN That fight scene was based heavily off of Suzaku's duel with the Knights of the Round from Knightmare of Nunnally. For me, Suzaku with a katana fighting metahuman corpse things WHILE FLYING SEVERAL HUNDRED FEET ABOVE THE SEA was way more epic than any of the battles from the Anime.


	3. Chapter 3

A note on characterization: Lelouch is quite firmly Lelouch Lamperouge in this story (as opposed to being Zero or Lelouch vi Britannia). Suzaku is far less neurotic as his past has undergone quite a few changes (which are explained later). Writing Nunnally for this story is very interesting. At first, I tried to make her as in character as possible but that just felt wrong. You simply cannot apply the mind of a fourteen-year-old blind wheelchair-bound exiled-princess to a healthy-albeit-amnesiac sixteen-year-old who ends up having to look out for her older brother in all things physical/social/not-intellectual. Instead, I have written her a lot like Marianne but tried to keep some of her naïveté and kind heartedness (making her similar to Euphemia I suppose). And yes. I am working on a more streamlined introduction. YamiPaladinofChaos has a truly excellent example in his story: "I Heard the World" that has inspired me to clean up my messy PoV issues.

* * *

><p>The .32 rounds from the girl's revolver smashed into the Revenant's chest like a lance at a jousting tournament of old. The soft, mercury tipped bullets mushroomed into fat metal pancakes as they slammed into the Revenant's armour plating, knocking it back. The Japanese boy tried to retrieve his fallen sword but the girl with the revolver was faster. Another two rounds kicked the monster back another foot and it fell to its knees to maintain balance on the soft surface of the airship's gasbag. The girl looked at him and the machine's databases (sluggish due to the CPU focus on the battle at hand) got a match: Nunnally vi Britannia. A spark appeared in the dark recesses of its defunct brain. Unused synapses began to flow with energy. Nunnally... A picture of a young girl in a pink dress appeared. It was not the one from the database but something different. The corpse's mouth moved. It was not an action the computer had approved or ordered.<p>

"Mistress Nunnally..."

The revolver's last two shots caught the Revenant squarely in the chest. The force imparted by the two knocked the machine onto its back. Its muscles spasmed as the reflex pathways and the programming protocols contradicted each other as they attempted to maintain balance. The Revenant slipped backwards and then fell from the gasbag.

The feeling of falling was new. Inside the Revenant's artificial "mind", a simple range finding laser informed it that it was going to hit the ground at 412% of the model's recommended maximum impact velocity. The computer powered down in an attempt to reduce damage. Unconstrained by the machine's parasitic control of its central nervous system, the activity in the Revenant's brain magnified tenfold. Sections of the disused organ which had been sealed off were suddenly reactivated. The Revenant's human eye opened wide.

For the first time in years, it was not a computer working on its pre-programmed routines. It was...

"Jeremiah... Gottwald!"

The newly awakened consciousness enjoyed twenty seconds of existence before it landed on the forest floor. The impact would have broken every bone in a normal human's body. As it was, the Revenant lost both its leg bones and muscles. The servos in its knees were damaged heavily and the shock had proceeded to disconnect its spinal cord in three different places. The thing's brain, only just awakened, was crushed within its skull by the rapid deceleration. The computer turned itself on and began running diagnostics. Before it could finish, a bullet entered its chest. Unlike the mercury tipped revolver rounds that the Revenant had been hit with before, this was a Russian-made injector tip round. As the bullet made contact with the Revanant's armour, a miniaturised shaped charge in the round's centre detonated. A concentrated stream of high velocity shrapnel tore through the corpse's armour and into the flesh beneath. The Revenant's heart, lungs and the top of its spinal cord were reduced to bloody mush and the computer which controlled it was blasted apart. The machine collapsed to the ground, utterly destroyed.

A man stood in an eternity of whiteness. This surreal landscape stretched on forever without even a horizon. Filling this vast space were thousands of figures, gaunt and featureless. All these strange humanoids were moving in one direction, their footsteps irregular as if they were hopelessly weary. But they still advanced, staggering forward without rest as if possessed. As he observed this, the man felt a deep desire to follow them. He made a few steps in tune with the shuffling horde yet something gnawed at the back of his mind, some half forgotten commitment that made him pause. The compulsion to join the figures' march grew stronger but he fought against it, trying to remember what he had forgotten.

"Interesting."

The man span around. None of the figures were looking at him, nor did any of them give the slightest indication that they were focused on anything but moving on to their distant destination. As he looked, he heard childish laughter.

There!

Someone was approaching him through the crowd. It was a child with long blonde hair and violet eyes. The boy walked against the crowd without effort as if unaffected by the strange compulsion that gripped everyone else. He spoke with a high pitched voice but his grave tone contradicted his otherwise immature façade.

"Such willpower. And with Marianne's gift too. I am not surprised that you were the one, my dear Jeremiah."

The man looked at the child, confused. He opened his mouth to speak but the blonde haired boy beat him to it.

"You are wondering where you are, no doubt. I don't have an answer. It has no real name. When C.C. showed this place to Dante, he called it 'Purgatory' although that short-lived religion of his never fully grasped the nature of the Eden Vital."

"Why am I in this place?"

"To put it simply, my dear Jeremiah, you are here because you are dead."

The man struggled against the strange pull but still managed to ask:

"How?"

"It is unimportant right now. All I need ask is whether or not you are willing to complete your mission. Are you still willing to kill Lelouch vi Britannia?"

The man's struggles against the compulsion redoubled and he managed a few lurching steps in the opposite direction. His voice and eyes burned with anger.

"Yes!"

The boy smiled.

"That's what I like about you, Jeremiah. Your strongest desire as a human and your programming as a Revenant overlap. You are truly implacable."

The man could not reply. He was too focused on resisting the ever strengthening desire to follow the crowd.

"'Order Revenant 49th Brigade - unit designation G3. Initiate Special Command Beta. The Lazarus Symbiont is now activated. Release at 35% and switch to manual control once neural reconstruction is complete'."

As soon as the boy stopped talking, the man felt another pull, this one in the opposite direction to the original one. But this was not mental. It was physical. He looked at the boy with fear in his eyes. The boy gazed back. For a moment, they simply stared. Then the child spoke.  
>"Bye."<br>The man felt himself being lifted off his feet. He flew backwards, accelerating over the endless stream of faceless black figures. The strange 'Purgatory' seemed to have been yanked out from under his feet as he was dragged back into...

The Revenant returned to its body with a start. Someone was standing over it, a long needled syringe in its hand. The machine leapt to its feet and grabbed its attacker by the throat, slamming them forcefully into a tree. The figure let out a gasp of pain. The Revenant switched to its low light camera and suddenly recognised the person's features.

"Lady... Alstreim?"

It was strange, all these memories returning. The Revenant's body was meant to be controlled from the spinal cord, not the brain and by a computer, not a mortal mind. It relaxed its grip, fearing it might break the teenage girl's neck with its unfamiliar strength. She slumped to the ground but recovered quickly, eyeing her rifle on the forest floor. But her eye was quickly drawn to the Revenant's chest. The hole in its armour plating was still there but through the ragged gap, she could see muscle reforming inside the wound as the flesh knitted itself back together. The spinal cord must have already healed if it could move. She looked up at its face and something stirred behind her emotionless red eyes.

"Who are you?"

The Revenant frowned. It flicked through the muddled memories for a name and after only a second's search, it found it.

"I... am... Gottwald..."

* * *

><p>The Lancelot felt like something part way between a caravan, a yacht and an airplane. The front of the gondola was taken up by the cockpit, a semicircular room with a panoramic window and vast bank of controls underneath. As far as Lelouch could tell, Suzaku only used the throttle, joystick and a few switches for regulating hydrogen concentrations in the gasbag. Beneath the controls was a small space filled with all sorts of junk, ranging from the first aid kit they had used to bandage Suzaku to a snow shovel and twenty cans of...<p>

"Pot-noodles?"

"Ramen. The closest thing I can find in this place to what I ate at home."

"Home?"

The boy suddenly became very interested in a cloud and Lelouch dropped the matter in favour of more exploration. The cockpit had two doors. One led to a small bedroom with a folding bunk bed and some pictures pinned to the wall. Most showed a younger Suzaku with a tall serious-looking Japanese man. Both wore skirts although Lelouch knew better than to call them that to Suzaku's face. The photographs made Lelouch feel uneasy. There was something paternal about the older man's expression and that same expression seemed to stir something up in the sediments of his lost memories. Something not altogether pleasant.

"Lelouch?"

The boy snapped out his reverie.

"Yes?"

"Could you make some tea? We've still got a good seventy miles before we reach Academy."

"Sure."

The other door led to a sort of general space, filled with cabinets of dried food and other essentials and quite warm as it held the boiler for the two engines. There was also a stove, cunning built into the boiler. Lelouch found a battered tin kettle sitting on a shelf and searched in vain for some water to boil.

"Try the cargo hold!"

The kitchen/storage area had three doors: one back into the cockpit, one which led to the outside of the gondola and another which opened into the airship's cargo space. Right now, it looked like it was empty except for a few Jerry cans and empty baskets. Lelouch gave them a suspicious sniff but they were water and he emptied one into the kettle. As he turned to leave, he noticed Nunnally curled up in a corner with her cloak draped over her.

"Hey Suzaku?"

He hissed.

"Yes?"

"Can Nunnally use your bed?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm not using it."

Careful so as not to disturb her, Lelouch pulled the slight girl into his arms and carried her slowly into the bedroom. Suzaku watched him go, his mind deep in thought. Their love for each other was truly endearing. The Japanese boy wondered if it was a product of their memory loss. Stripped of almost everything, they were left with nothing but each other. And as he watched them pass, Nunnally cradled in her brother's spindly arms, Suzaku sincerly believed that that might be all they needed. The door closed and Lelouch returned to the cockpit.

"It's a nice airship, Suzaku. Very homely."

Suzaku nodded.

"The Lancelot's been my home for a very long time."

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes before their silence was broken by a high pitched whistle.  
>Suzaku looked over his shoulder.<p>

"I think your water is boiling."

Lelouch stood and walked back into the 'kitchen'.

"Pot on the right."

Suzaku pre-empted Lelouch's question. The boy looked at the jam jar, filled with dried leaves. He looked from the leaves to the mug and back again. Then he bit his lip, rested his head in his hands in preparation for Suzaku's inevitable guffawing.

"Suzaku?"

"Yes?"

"How do you make tea?"

There was a silence.

"Seriously?"

Lelouch closed his eyes.

"Yes."

There was another silence. Then...

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The Japanese boy howled like some sort of rabid animal. Too late, Lelouch remembered the boy was also flying the airship. As Suzaku fell to his knees screaming with mirth, the airship pitched to one side and Lelouch narrowly avoided being splashed with boiling water. There was a loud clunk and then Nunnally's annoyed voice came through the flimsy plywood partition.

"Hey!"

"Nunnally! Are you all right?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Umm... What is wrong with Suzaku?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"It's nothing..."

"LELOUCH DOESN'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO MAKE TEA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA... Ow!"

There was a satisfying thud as Nunnally's thrown shoe made contact with the boy's head.

"That's for waking me up."

This time it was Lelouch's turn to laugh. Until a very angry Nunnally appeared in the doorway, the other shoe in hand.

"You can't even make tea, Lelouch?"

The shoe was raised to throwing height. Lelouch tried to step back but ran into a cabinet.

"Can you make tea, Nunnally?"

The girl blinked.

"Of course I can..."

"Do it."

Red began to flush the girl's pale features.

"I... I..."

"Neither of you can make tea? HAHAHA... Ow!"

Nunnally's other shoe had disappeared from her hand. Lelouch grabbed the pot and the mugs of hot water and brought then into the cockpit.

"If you're such an expert, teach us."

Suzaku looked at them, his eyes still shining with laughter.

"Sure. But I thought you Britannians were really big on tea. Almost as much as us Japanese."

Nunnally shrugged.

"I suppose our family never had tea."

Suzaku spooned a few dried leaves into each mug and poked them with a spoon.

"Either that or you had someone else do it for you."

Both their heads shot up. Lelouch's eyes narrowed.

"What are you suggesting, Suzaku?"

The boy shrugged.

"I meet a lot of Britannians who can barely do anything for themselves. And not just nobles. Regular people never had to cook with all the fast-food restaurants and ready meals and stuff like that. But not knowing how to make tea is pretty extreme. Are you sure it doesn't have something to do with your amnesia?"

Nunnally shrugged and Lelouch looked pensive.

"Perhaps. Though there are things I have been able to do naturally, like chess or arithmetic. I still know things but they are not associated with actual experiences. Does that make any sense?"

Suzaku nodded, sipping his tea.

"Sort of. So you can remember how to multiply and divide, just not who taught it to you or how?"

"Yeah. Pretty much."

Lelouch took a sip of his own tea. His face promptly turned blue. Suzaku noticed it and laughed.

"It's Sencha. Green tea from Japan. It's quite strong and I tend to make it stronger than most..."

Lelouch nodded, his face still slightly off colour. Nunnally took a hesitant sip and smiled.

"I think it tastes wonderful."

"That's lovely, Nunnally."

The girl smiled sweetly until Suzaku's back was turned whereupon she emptied the mug out of one of the windows. Suzaku turned back and she pretended to take another sip.

"So, Suzaku. Tell us about this Academy place."

The boy smiled, a distant expression of great fondness.

"Academy..."

_The Lancelot dove left, its engines threatening to stall._

_"Come on!"_

_Suzaku implored the machine. There was the brutal rattle of a machinegun and he felt the airship's descent accelerate._

_"Come on!"_

_The port engine roared back into life and Suzaku checked the airship's death spiral. Through the cracked viewport, he could see the pirate airship circling him like a shark. A shark with a pair of .30 cals on each side. Over the radio, he could hear their mocking laughter._

_"Japanese scum! You came to the wrong country, you vermin!"_

_Suzaku vented hydrogen, quick enough to avoid a burst of bright magnesium tracers that could have ignited his gasbag and blown him apart. The starboard engine coughed, its propeller slowing as steam hissed from a line of bullet holes along the strut. Suzaku slowed the port to compensate for the lack of thrust but then that engine threatened to stop as the machine bled pneumatic pressure._

_"Kuso!"_

_The starboard engine caught a gust and the gears meshed. Suzaku rerouted the main pressure valve, hoping against hope..._

_In front of him, the pirate airship exploded in huge fireball. It took several seconds for Suzaku to fully realise what had just happened. Less than a heartbeat later, the concussion from the explosion blasted his airship backwards. Suzaku lost his footing and his head rammed into the back of the cockpit. His vision blurred and he felt suddenly very drowsy._

_"What..."_

_His head lolled back and he fell unconscious._

_When he awoke, he was immediately blinded by a bright white light._

_"So... Are we having a bad day?"_

_He looked to one side and saw a bespectacled man with light blue hair standing over him._

_"Looks like you missed a chance to go to heaven, my dear boy."_

_Suzaku sat up, wincing a little from the pain in his head. He could feel the tightness of bandages around his skull. They had patched him up? That was much nicer than he was expecting. Most would not give such an obvious foreigner half a thought before leaving him in the dust._

_"I did?"_

_A woman with indigo hair nodded and spoke in a kind almost motherly voice._

_"Are you all right? You suffered a nasty concussion there."_

_"Yeah..."_

_Suzaku looked around. They appeared to be in some sort of workshop. Three tables cluttered with disassembled machinery stood in the middle of the room. Off to one side was a large freight elevator with a large shape covered by a tarpaulin. A small table was set next to his bed with an open first aid kit lying on it. It looked military. Before he could take in anything more, a blonde whirlwind burst into the room._

_"WHY HELLO EVERYONE!"_

_The man's smile froze on his face and the indigo haired woman let out an almost imperceptible sigh, her eyes closing for a fraction longer than a normal blink as she readied herself for the anarchy to come. The man spoke first, his back to the rapidly approaching blonde._

_"Hello, Miss President..."_

_"Is this our newest arrival? Wonderful!"_

_The girl grabbed Suzaku by the shoulders and looked over him with a critical eye._

_"You know what I'm thinking?"_

_Suzaku looked to the two blue haired people for help but they were backing away from the wounded Japanese and the fair haired girl who was attacking him._

_"Um... No?"_

_She grinned, her blue eyes bright._

_"Why, a festival of course."_

_"That sounds... fun?"_

_Somehow, deep down, Suzaku felt that it would be anything but._

"So what happened then?"

Nunnally asked.

"Why, we had a festival of course."

Lelouch snorted.

"A festival?"

Suzaku grinned.

"Yeah. They threw me a party just like that."

Nunnally frowned slightly.

"Is there something you aren't telling us, Suzaku?"

The Japanese boy shook his head, a flush rising on his cheeks.

"No..."

"So, a bunch of complete strangers saved your life and threw a party for you?"

"Pretty much..."

The two Lamperouge siblings were on to him.

"What was the catch?"

"What do you mean?"

Lelouch sighed.

"There is always a catch. Those sorts of things don't just happen."

Nunnally leant in.

"Did they steal your kidneys?"

Suzaku blanched.

"WHAT!"

Lelouch looked pensive.

"I know. They wanted your blood."

"NO!"

"Was it any of your organs?"

"NO!"

"Organic fluids?"

"What the hell?"

"Did they..." Lelouch covered Nunnally's ears, "R-A-P-E you?"

"NO!"

Nunnally looked at her brother, disgusted.

"I _can _spell, Lelouch."

"THERE WAS NO CATCH! ACADEMY ARE WONDERFUL PEOPLE AND SOME OF MY GREATEST FRIENDS SINCE I ARRIVED IN BRITANNIA!"

"Okay... Okay..."

The two Lamperouges exchanged glances but did not pursue their line of questioning. Suzaku sighed and hoped they would forgive him when they arrived. If he told them about the "party" they had thrown him when they first arrived, he would not blame them for wanting to stay away. But the inhabitants of Academy were some of Suzaku oldest and best friends in Britannia. Almost as old as Montague, Suzaku reminded himself with a pang of loss. If anyone on the West Coast could help the Lamperouge siblings, it would be them.

* * *

><p>From the air, Academy was distinctly odd site. It was centred around a group of five large buildings and about a dozen smaller ones, all set around a sprawling campus. The buildings were built in a distinctive Imperial style: tall arched windows and faux-classical façades mixed with peaked roofs and high chimneys. Between the buildings were wide spaces that might have been lawns or cricket fields but were now bare dirt. Juxtaposing the grandeur of the buildings, few lonely figures tilled the ground by hand like peasants in medieval times. But the oddities did not end there. A barricade had been constructed around the exterior of the settlement, linking some of the buildings together. The wall was tall enough to reach the second floor of the buildings it encompassed and was made from heavy concrete roadblocks and sheets of metal stripped from unused automobiles. The sides were adorned with cruel, downward pointing spikes and messy spools of barbed wire. On top of one of the few buildings with a flat roof, a squat anti-aircraft cannon tracked their movements. Lelouch eyed the artillery piece nervously. Suzaku noticed the boy's worry and smiled reassuringly.<p>

"They know it's me."

Suzaku guided the Lancelot into a cricket oval which was also home to half a dozen terrified looking sheep. As Suzaku cut power to the engines and vented a final burst of hydrogen, a group of people ran out to meet them. Four grabbed ropes and began tying the airship down with practiced ease. The other three approached the gondola, weapons in their hands. They wore what looked like old suits of Britannian combat armour but painted black with a queer white symbol daubed on the breast and green stripes on the shoulder. One of the three, a young woman with golden blonde hair waved.

"Suzaku!"

The Japanese boy stuck his head out the door and smiled.

"Hi, Monica."

He stepped out and she looked him over critically.

"You've lost weight. I bet you're still trying to live off that awful pot-noodle dish."

Suzaku tried to shrug her off.

"I think it has more to do with my hand-to-hand duel with a Mark IV."

Her blue eyes widened and she began to check him over again. After a second inspection, she uncovered his bandages shoulder.

"Suzaku! You really should get that looked over. I'll call..."

Her voice trailed off and in a flash, her pistol was out of its holster. Her armoured companions raised their carbines. Suzaku spun around and saw Lelouch and Nunnally standing in the doorway to the gondola, understandably horrified by the sight of three armed people about to gun them down.

"Monica!"

The blonde gave Suzaku a sideways look.

"You know what we said about picking up strays, Suzaku."

The Japanese boy stepped in front of Lelouch and Nunnally, standing between them and the guns.

"They're not strays, Monica. They need help."

The girl snorted at that but her gaze softened.

"Everyone needs help, Suzaku. I just wish you'd learn to say 'no' sometimes."

She lowered her pistol and the other mirrored her.

"We'll let the Council deal with them. I trust your judgment, Suzaku. Even if you can be insufferably stubborn at times."

She looked at the newcomers and said in a gruff voice.

"No hard feelings but Academy has rules and 'not allowing outsiders in' is up there with shooting people and touching the President's DVD collection."

Nunnally managed to crack a faint smile at the woman's joke but Lelouch still looked furious that someone dared to point a gun at his beloved Nunnally.

"Hey!"

The three soldiers were already walking away. Over her shoulder, Monica called back.

"Council room. Let's say around seven? I'll have someone chaperone them until I can get everyone together."

"Okay."

Suzaku looked at the Lamperouges, an apologetic smile on his face.

"Sorry about that..."

Lelouch made a humph noise.

"And we are going to ask these people for help?"

Suzaku nodded.

"Trust me. They have the best. Or at least the best you're going to find on the West Coast. And I should have warned you about the 'outsider' problem."

Nunnally looked at Suzaku.

"Outsiders?"

Suzaku began walking towards one of the buildings and the two Lamperouges followed him.

"Academy used to be a school. A real famous one for big shot nobility and even royals on occasion. It was under the patronage of the Ashford Foundation which was Britannia's biggest knightmare manufacturers before the war. When Prince Thaddeus made his 'glorious' last stand on Mt Hood about a hundred miles north of here, most of the nobles withdrew their kids from the Academy. Those who remained more often than not had no family to go back to. Soon after the EU took Boston, the staff fled too and pretty much abandoned the remaining student body in the school. But the student body President - you'll meet her later - was able to organise some sort of self sufficiency. So these hundred or so students scraped out a living out here for a year. I found them soon after arriving in Britannia and helped them with things - found seeds and proper farming equipment, stuff like that. Soon, they were making a surplus so they started taking in people from the outside. But then there was an incident..."

Suzaku looked down at his shoes.

"The details are unimportant but it has left the people here with a deep resentment for people from the outside."

Nunnally looked about to press him but a sudden weariness to his voice caused her to stop. They continued in silence until they reached one of the buildings. Suzaku gave a smile though it was far weaker than his previous ones.

"Here we are. These are my quarters. You can stay here until someone from the main..."

A girl with strawberry blonde hair jumped out from behind the door.

"Suzaku!"

The Japanese boy looked a little shocked by the girl's sudden entrance but then he smiled and it was stronger than before, more genuine.

"Shirley. How have you been?"

"Good. You should see the peas. They've really gotten tall since you last visited..."

The girl's gaze drifted to the two Lamperouges. They braced themselves for another reaction like the one they had faced at the landing area. Instead she blushed deep crimson.

"Um... hi."

Nunnally gave her a smile and offered a hand.

"Hello. I am Nunnally."

"Shirley."

They shook and the Academy girl gave Lelouch a cautious glance but immediately looked away. Lelouch looked completely baffled by her behaviour and decided to mirror his more socially adept sister.

"Hello. I am Lelouch."

The girl's blush deepened as their hands touched and she looked very seriously in the other direction as she introduced herself.

"Shirley Fenette. Nice to meet you."

She stuttered a little on the "nice" but was able to reign in her blush a little once their hands parted.

"Did Monica send you?"

"Yep. The Knights were all busy with guard duty and I'm the next best thing."

Suzaku's brow furrowed.

"Where are the other two squads?"

"Percival is doing contract work for Vancouver. Hunting down bandits and stuff like that. Tristan Squad was meant to stay here but they got an emergency call from Eagle's Rook. Revenant attack."

Suzaku scratched the back of his head at that last comment.

"That Revenant is pretty well dealt with."

Shirley's green eyes widened.

"You killed it?"

"Not really. I just survived until Nunnally blasted it off the Lancelot at cruising altitude."

Shirley looked at Nunnally with new found respect. It was the brunette's turn to blush.

"It was just a lucky shot..."

"Yeah. Six of them. One after the other."

Suzaku barked out a laugh, his previous melancholy forgotten.

"You should ask Monica to teach you. She's an excellent shot."

Shirley nodded, confirming Suzaku's statement. Lelouch frowned, unsure about exposing his sister to such violent matters. He decided to change subject.

"So you are here to escort us, Shirley."

The blush returned in force.

"Umm... yes. Yes! I mean..."

The blush grew and Nunnally intervened before the girl could cause more of an incident.

"That's lovely. I am sure Suzaku needs some time to himself after being cooped up with us for the last five hours."

Suzaku nodded, already grabbing a towel from a cabinet inside his quarters.

"Look after them, Shirley. And be careful in case they try any illicit activity."

All three of them blanched at that final statement, delivered with another of Suzaku's cheeky grins before he broke into a run across the courtyard/bean farm and towards a building with the distinctive hallmarks of a bathhouse. Shirley yelled after him.

"Hot water only comes on on Tuesdays and Fridays!"

"I know! But even a cold dip sounds pretty good after three weeks of..."

"I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!"

The Japanese boy stuck out his tongue and ran off. Shirley huffed a little and turned back to her charges. She led them in the same direction Suzaku had run off but turned before they entered the bathhouse and headed down a covered colonnade that pointed towards the largest buildings.

"Please don't do any illicit activities."

Nunnally nodded but Lelouch frowned.

"What counts as illicit?"

"Oh... just common sense things. Stealing, killing, fighting outside the gymnasium... and all sorts of crazy rules the Prez has but you only need to worry about those if she sees you. And I've been avoiding her all day over..."

She suddenly began blushing furiously as she realised she was in the company of a boy (and a boy she quite clearly had a crush on at that). Lelouch just looked confused.

"Over...?"

Nunnally cuffed him over the back of the head and he knew better than to ask why. The minds of women...

* * *

><p>The Council met in a medium sized building at the centre of the complex. It also served as the living quarters for the councils main members. Two were absent but that did not matter. The Council was essentially just a puppet government to the Student Body President's whims. It was often jokingly referred to as the "House of Commons" after the nominal leaders of the EU Pacified Zone.<p>

"Suzaku, you have brought two outsiders into Academy. Please justify your actions."

It was impossible to tell if the President was being serious or not. Sure she could be absolutely insane at times but the very fact that the settlement was still standing was a testament to her capacity as a leader and a thinker. He had violated her rules after all and the incident which had caused the rule's implementation was still fresh in everyone's minds.

"They are not raiders..."

"And how do you know that?"

Monica's voice was hard but not cruel.

"When I met them, they were being attacked by a Revenant. A Mark IV."

All the council members winced at the thought. Two kids against a Mark IV was not a pretty picture.

"But that does not prove anything. Revenants will attack anyone."

"I know. But they did not ask me to take them to Academy. They just wanted to get away from that monster."

"Understandable, I suppose. But why did you take them here? Even if they don't have homes or families, there are plenty of settlements you could have dropped them off at."

Suzaku bit his lip.

"They... have a problem."

The President raised an eyebrow.

"A problem, Suzaku?"

"Yes. They both have amnesia. They say they got it from a car crash or something..."

The Council turned to the third present member who had not yet ventured a comment. The man in question let out an exaggerated sigh and spoke as if reciting from an encyclopaedia (and for all they knew, he was).

"Retrograde Amnesia: An inability to correctly recall events after a specific event due to Traumatic Brain Injury, most likely from rapid deceleration. It is plausible but also exceptionally rare. To be present in both cases at once is nothing short of extraordinary. Extraordinary to the point of convenient."

Suzaku frowned at the last statement.

"I trust them."

"I know Suzaku. But you were always a little naïve in that respect."

"Monica!"

The blonde haired woman shrugged unapologetically.

"I am just saying..."

The President held up her hand. Everyone looked at her, awaiting her decision.

"They can stay for the night, Suzaku. Tomorrow, we will see about figuring out this medical mystery of yours. But I want them out in two days max and I want someone on them at all times. Suzaku, Shirley or one of the Knights. Is that clear?"

There was a murmur of assent. Suzaku bowed his head. It was not the outcome he had hoped for but it was fair. He hoped Lelouch and Nunnally would understand.

* * *

><p>AN

And there we have it. I am happy to answer any questions, be they in reviews or PMs. Next chapter we have more madness when Tristan Squad returns, we find out how Anya and Jeremiah's confrontation in the forest ended AND we get a peak at what's happening with the Euries. Hooray for the EU (seriously, I can't be the only EU fan on this website...)


	4. Chapter 4

"The concept behind the Yggdrasil Drive is deceptively simple. A block of high density metal (usually iron) is suspended in sakuradite based fluid. Sakuradite is the world's only known high temperature superconductor and thus has an immense appetite for electrons. It literally strips them away from the iron core and stores them in high performance capacitors. After a few seconds, the core becomes critical. The positive nuclei of the iron no longer have enough negatively charged electrons between themselves and their neighbours to maintain their molecular structure and begin to repel each other, causing massive expansion. Inside the reinforced confines of an Yggdrasil Drive, this immense pressure is diverted to conventional hydraulics which are used in the knightmare's joints, landspinner wheels and slash harkens. Once the hydraulic pressure produced by the expansion has been exhausted the capacitors discharge, returning the electrons to the iron and causing it to collapse back into shape. The process can then be repeated but with exponentially decreasing efficiency. This is due to the fact that sakuradite atoms, when exposed to such high energy particles, swiftly decay into a mix of uranium isotopes and alpha particles. As such, the sakuradite fluid needs to be replaced every twenty cycles. Britannian knightmares use "energy fillers" to make up the difference as drive efficiency wanes. It makes sure the charge difference in the capacitors is maintained. Each filler can provide the energy for about 4 hours. Each time the filler is replaced, the next one lasts for half as long unless the sakuradite is changed as well. There is another thing to note here. The concentration of sakuradite used in the fluid is exponentially linked to power-output. Hence the Britannians could produce machines fitted with incredibly high power usage systems like the experimental Blaze Luminous energy shielding but at a prohibitively expensive sakuradite usage, only possible for one-of-a-kind knightmares. And yes. This is all extremely relevant, Monsieur Loubière, so I would put away whatever you have out under the table and pay attention to what I am saying. Statistically speaking, at least six members of this class will die in your first rotation in the Britannian homeland. If I were you, I would be making pretty damn sure I am not one of the six.

Now, where were we? Ah yes... The EU has historically possessed very little sakuradite and hence our knightmares cannot use rapid decaying systems like the Yggdrasil Drive. Instead, we use Tesla Servos, the actual mechanics of which are identical to conventional servos except with sakuradite parts and thus do not require the in-depth explanation I afforded to the Yggdrasil drive. Built from the far more stable solid sakuradite and more precise than hydraulics but significantly less powerful, they are better suited to long range knightmares like the Panzer-Hummel or the more recent Panzer-Wespe models.

That is the key difference we exploited in North Africa and later on the American continent. The Britannian knightmares were so outclassed at range that they were forced to fight us up close. Any units which tried to fight us with their frankly pathetic 20mm assault rifles were annihilated by the Hummel's twin 50mm autocannons. Hand-to-hand fighting was their option. Contrary to current belief, this style is actually quite a potent weapon in knightmare combat (a fact exacerbated by the inherent superiority Britannian knightmares enjoyed due to their Yggdrasil drives) but it is also an exclusively offensive stratagem. In any knightmare engagement, from the most basic skirmish to the largest pitched battles, the Britannians were thus constrained to only two options: attack or retreat. If they attacked, they frequently risked a drawn out charge straight down the barrels of our 50mm autocannons. If they retreated, they risked losing their supply transports because the vehicles were simply too slow to outrun our gunships or the Bamides of our Middle Eastern allies. The brash nature of the Britannian pilots also helped enormously. If they had just kept their heads down and waged guerrilla style attacks, we might still be fighting to this day. However, their deep-rooted desire for personal glory prevented them from fighting in any other way but head-on. Any unit that attempted to fight with their head was demoted for cowardice. Hard to believe but true. As their sakuradite supply began to dry up, the retreat option became progressively less viable. Ultimately, the Britannians had no choice but to march into our Hummels' killing fields and hope that they might survive our guns long enough to reach our lines. An unenviable position, you would agree?

That is the lesson you should take away from this. No technology is perfect and pretending it is can be quite brutally fatal. As long as you understand your limitations and never let your enemy to force you into a position where they can be used against you to such a devastating effect, you have a good chance at standing in this room in six months time at the end of your rotation. That will be all."

There was the scrape of chairs as the assembled NCOs of the newly minted 201rst Luftbewegliche Panzergrenadier Bataillon (multinational) stood and raised their hands in solemn salute.

"Liberté, égalité, fraternité!"

Their instructor echoed them and then there was the usual babble of noise and a hundred different conversations sprung to life in a dozen different languages. The instructor had no notes, no papers so he was one of the first out of the door. As he did, he saw someone standing in the hallway, looking through the window of the building.

"Saint-Cyr suits you?"

The lecturer recognised the voice. Just after, he realised the question was addressed to him.

"Well, I suppose. The wine is surprisingly terrible."

"That is because you're a miserly old man with no taste. I found some excellent stuff in a town not four miles from here."

The man turned, revealing a glass in his hand and a bottle and another glass on the window sill.

"The commandant is going to have a hissy fit when he sees that. And he's a French man with a huge hat and an impressive moustache."

"I see your stereotypes have survived contact with the enemy."

The instructor poured himself a glass of the wine. It was a deep Burgundy red and soothed his throat after his long lecture.

"The French haven't been our enemy since 1815. Unless you count the European Cup."

The man barked a laugh at that. The lecturer looked at him. He still looked so young. But the last two years had changed him deeply. He decided to ask the question which had been lurking behind their conversation.

"I heard the appeals failed. I'm so sorry, Adler."

The visitor turned away, suddenly interested in the parade ground through the window. Two recruits jogged around the concrete square, their distant faces shiny with sweat.

"My mother..."

He bit his lip hard but then continued.

"She deserves it."

Walter looked conflicted for a moment. Then his face set in what Adler had once called his "game face".

"And why is that?"

Adler turned away from his old mentor, his glass frozen half way to his lips. Maybe it was just the new angle but the man's youthful face seemed to have taken a dark turn.

"Because that is the only way it makes sense. The Courts are never wrong, Walter. If there was any chance my mother was innocent, it would have been heard in the appeals."

"I know that but perhaps..."

"It is not becoming to think of such things."

"Governments and courts are only systems, Adler. They are not always right. And even if they are, that doesn't mean she was any less of a mother to you."

"She betrayed Germany, the EU, everything men like you and my grandfather fought for, died for..."

"You don't have to hate her, Adler."

"Why don't you? You have every right to."

Walter played with his wine glass for a moment.

"Because I knew her before all of that. She was... She was a lot like you Adler."

The young man looked almost angry at Walter's words but he did not respond. The silence lingered until Adler chose to change the subject.

"They will be mine soon enough."

Adler gestured at the stream of NCOs still exiting the lecture hall. Walter sensed his change of tone and decided not to press matters further.

"The 201rst? I heard. They are a sharp bunch. Surprisingly united considering they are a multinational unit."

Adler shrugged.

"They are not the first. What are their stats on the mock ups?"

"Second in the entire school in the war-games. Only the trainees for the Foreign Legion beat them."

"What about officers?"

"The four company COs are all sharp kids but we lack experienced Warrant Officers to back them up."

"I have some in mind from my old unit. I'll pull a few strings. First Lieutenant Wheeler's papers have already come through. She'll serve as my Adjutant."

"I have some candidates for your second. Loubière is the brightest but he lacks motivation."

"Then I don't want him. Who else?"

"Next would be Nikitin. Russian. Not quite as cool-headed as Loubière but he always gives things his all."

Adler nodded, his behaviour completely recovered from before.

"Excellent. I'll inspect them before I go back to Siberia."

"The BSO again?"

"Just wrapping up loose ends. A loose end that requires an entire armoured division but that's all  
>classified. I'll be back within the week." <p>

-0-

_Six weeks earlier..._

Switzerland was a very useful country. The only nation in Europe never to enter the EU, they had clung to their neutrality despite being totally dependent on their neighbours in the Ultra-union. Officially, the EU allowed them to exist because of the Swiss government's wishes. Unofficially, it was because Switzerland was so useful. And the reason was this: Switzerland had never signed any international treaties. The Treaty of Tibet, the London Accords, the New Haven Convention... None of them applied within its borders. And that made it very useful for the EU. Unlike Britannia, the EU was a delicate system of checks and balances designed to protect the civil liberties of the EU's citizens. The law courts would never allow the more unconventional methods that were routine for Special Operations, Counter-terrorism Operations or Intelligence and Counter-intelligence Operations to take place within EU jurisdiction. This problem became so great that during the Communist Uprisings of the 1920s, the EU set up the Special Operations Bureau (Büro Spezielle Operationen - BSO) to deal with the rebellious elements as quickly and cleanly as possible. Switzerland was the logical home for such an organisation.

The BSO's current form is that of a sprawling PMC made up entirely of "retired" personnel from European military and with close ties to many of the arms contractors the military use, namely Rheinmetall AG and Fabrique Nationale. Its existence is considered a necessary evil by the Central Hemicycle and the Justice Department, tolerated but never trusted or accepted. On the other hand, many in the military consider it an honour to be chosen to serve in the BSO, seeing it as a badge of excellence and loyalty to the EU. The public perception of it is mixed; most view it as simply an extension of the normal armed forces while others consider it a threat to European sovereignty and are resentful that such a large military entity could stray outside of civilian authority. Due to the clandestine nature of its operations and the great deal of public interest they created, the BSO preferred somewhat unusual locations.

This particular facility was north of the town of Aigle on the eastern bank of Lake Geneva, built deep into the side of the mountain. For such a vast and expensive complex, most of the staff assigned to it was confused when it lay practically unoccupied for months. Despite the apparent barrenness of the facilities underground network, the soldiers and workers were instructed to follow stringent safety measures. Full head helmets were to be worn at all times with the reflective visor down. The helmets were also designed to cut off all possible audio input that didn't come from point-to-point laser communicators fitted to the helmets of other guards and even that came through in a partially scrambled feed that made it almost impossible to discern who was talking. The setup seemed to make enemy infiltration more likely but the build of the facility seemed to be designed to keep something in as opposed to out_. _The last but most important rule, hammered into the facilities staff by dozens of posters and glaring signage all over the inside of the complex, was _never _go past the yellow line. The design of the complex was modular with a surface station that housed the staff and security detail and a deeper bunker-like construction deep inside the mountain itself. The two were separated by a long tunnel and at the entrance to the tunnel was a thick yellow line.

Mess-hall speculation claimed the place was a laboratory for alien remains. More rational explanations asserted it was a storage facility for biological and/or chemical agents although that did not explain why their helmets seemed designed to block or distort sensory information and did not even contain respirators. Their confusion was only added to when their first actual orders came through, almost six months after they had first appeared in the facility. A prisoner was being sent from Berlin. During his arrest, he had tried to commit suicide with a cyanide pill. Medics from the Armed Response Unit sent to carry out the arrest were able to force amyl nitrate down the dying man's throat before pumping him full of sodium nitrate. The man had lived - barely - and was now en-route to the facility. The orders were clear. He was to be kept in a chemically induced coma while being transported (pretty standard for prisoners who were proved to be suicidal). When he arrived, he was to be restrained in a chair which was bolted to a platform inside the tunnel. The platform was fitted with runners so it could move along grooves set in the tunnel's floor. When he was fully conscious, the platform was to be pushed into the tunnel. The guards were a little skittish this close to the yellow line but their nervousness translated into speed and the unfortunate prisoner was soon being dragged inexorably into the darkness of the tunnel. Throughout the entire facility, sirens blared and a full alert was called. All of the facilities internal guards lined up at the entrance to the tunnel, rifles pointed into the darkness. Spotlights were turned on and illuminated a heavy metal door about fifty metres down. As the platform trundled forward, the door slowly opened and the sirens rose to an ear-splitting pitch. The guards' orders were clear. If anything or anyone attempted to step through the doors while they were open, they were to be shot immediately and without warning. Fortunately for both sides, the platform moved through the doors without incident and the heavy metal doors sealed themselves with a heavy clang. The sirens quietened and, after a few terse commands from the facilities commander, were shut off completely.

Inside the tunnel, the prisoner was in a state of utter panic. His eyes bulged and he strained against the leather straps holding him down. But then he quieted. The tunnel led up to a concrete wall with a large glass panel set into it. Through the glass was a cluttered but cosy living room. The television was on and playing a popular Japanese show, subbed with Chinese characters. As the prisoner watched, a strange man stood up from the couch facing the television and looked at him. They stared at each other for a moment. The strange man looked vaguely Chinese and the prisoner was pretty confident he was an albino. His hair and skin had the same ethereal paleness and his eyes pulsed with bright red veins. As they simply gazed at each other, the Japanese program cut off and was replaced with a message stating [Audio Only]. Out of the speakers, a cold voice spoke in German-accented Britannian.

"What have you got?"

The albino looked at the screen and let out a childish giggle.

"He knows. He knows about C.C.."

The prisoner's eyes bulged. He had been prepared to die to protect those secrets. How had this man found out from just looking at him? But he already knew the answer. Geass.

"Well done! Right first time."

The albino congratulated the prisoner in a sing-song voice before turning back to the television.

"This one is a complete treasure trove. He knows about the Geass Order and the other immortal too."

The voice on the television sounded excited.

"He knows about V.V.?"

The albino nodded but then pouted.

"But what about C.C.?"

The voice on the television sighed.

"I've already told you. V.V. is our path to C.C.. As soon as we find him, we will be able to find her and then she will be yours."

The albino nodded, his brow furrowed.

"So I will help you find V.V.?"

The voice sighed again.

"Yes."

The albino's face broke into a smile that was at once bright and innocent but also tinged with vicious insanity.

"The Gobi Desert. The man does not know the exact co-ordinated but it is less than three hours plane journey north-west from Baotou."

"With what sort of plane?"

The albino looked pensive for a moment.

"Single engine prop."

His clumsy diction betrayed the fact that those were not his words but those of the prisoner who was now almost crying at the horrific situation he had found himself.

"Landmarks?"

"It's a big pile of rocks."

"Thanks for that, Mao."

"Oh it's no problem..."

The albino's tone suggested he did not detect the television-voice's sarcasm.

"Oh... The prisoner just hoped that we would not use the EUROSAT program to search for electrical interference from high voltage power lines through the desert. Whatever that means."

The voice on the television was quiet for a moment but it quickly came back.

"All right. Any more intel? Defences?"

"Well, he is imagining a map of the place. From his memories, it looks kinda like a big underground city. But no guns or stuff like that..."

"Good. I think we'll flush the place with gas first so we don't get any unpleasant surprises from any other Geass users within the city."

"The prisoner seems to think that will be a good idea. Well, bad for them. Good for you, I mean."

"All right. Thank you, Mao. We'll find your C.C. soon enough and then you two can live together forever."

The albino's face lit up in that ugly mess of joy and something darker.

"Yes! Forever!"

-0-

Nunnally Lamperouge awoke to the smell of frying bacon. The smell stirred something deep in her chest, some buried memory struggling to break free like the already fading tendrils of her dreams. For a moment, she focused all her will into wiggling loose that lost memory in the hope that it may cause all the others to fall into place but her efforts were for nought. By the time she had dressed in some clothes borrowed from Shirley and come down the stairs to the club house's living area, the incident was already forgotten. The club house was by far the most luxurious accommodation she had enjoyed since she and Lelouch had awoken more than two weeks ago. At the bottom of the stairs, she found Suzaku and the girl from the landing stage talking quietly. They broke off as she approached and she eyed the suspiciously. Suzaku had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Oh... Hi Nunnally."

"Good morning, Suzaku."

The Japanese boy scratched the back of his head, looking for something to break the suddenly awkward silence.

"Umm... Nunnally? This is Monica Kruszewski. She is the commander of Agrivane Squad of the Black Knights. They are the group which protects Academy."

Monica looked a lot less threatening outside of her black armour but Nunnally could see the angular bulge of a handgun under her shirt. _That makes two of us_ Nunnally thought, feeling the comforting weight of her own revolver hidden in Shirley's too large clothes. The blonde girl's eyes were looking down at her feet when she blurted out.

"I came to I am sorry about the whole thing on the landing area. It was my fault for over-reacting like that. It's just... We just like to keep to ourselves. No-one ever comes up this way and we do our utmost to try and keep it that way. The Earl of Medford is less than fifty miles to the south west and you just can't take any chances with those sorts of people. When I saw you, I thought that maybe you had stowed away or coerced Suzaku..." the Japanese boy gave out a slightly indignant humph at the idea that he could be "coerced" by a sixteen year old girl and a boy whose body was comparable to soggy noodles "... and I panicked. It was wrong for me to accuse you like that and to threaten you and expect everything to be okay afterwards."

Nunnally was taken aback by the girl's abrupt confession. She had assumed to Academy was just another group of xenophobic bigots with way too much firepower (a pretty accurate reflection of pre-war Britannia, as it so happens) but for the first time since she arrived, she recognised that they were just a group of kids that had been abandoned by their parents and their teachers. Deep down, Nunnally hated being suspicious of people. She hated the fact that she could never trust people, not completely. Even Suzaku, the only person who had really tried to help them, was not privy to everything. And Nunnally despised it. So while her head told her that Academy was still unsafe, she simply could not bring herself to dislike these people. Suzaku, who had been willing to _die_ for them despite the fact they had only known each other for a minute at most. Shirley, who was the antithesis of everyone else in this harsh land: bubbly, cheerful and so full of life. Monica, who seemed like the closest thing Academy had to a mother, fussing over Suzaku and coming to apologise to a girl who was still not proven to be trustworthy. Tears began to form in her crystal blue eyes and both Suzaku and Monica looked genuinely horrified that they might have upset her.

"Thank you."

Nunnally whispered.

"Any time."

Monica replied, still looking a little concerned at her tears but Nunnally smiled and wiped them away before they could ask. Suzaku cleared his throat.

"Breakfast?"

The clubhouse featured an open kitchen with an oval wood table and six chairs. Two of them were already occupied. One contained a blue haired man in a white coat. He was older than Academy's other inhabitants by a good ten years but then again, he was humming Beethoven's Ninth to a piece of dessert as he delicately dissected the thing with a spoon. Across the table from him was a woman with indigo hair, also older than most of Academy although younger than the man with the pudding. She was focused on a messy notebook, one hand writing notes in a confusing shorthand while the other held a fork of long cooled hash-browns half-way to her mouth.

"Hello?"

The indigo haired lady looked up and gave Suzaku a kind smile.

"Oh hello, Suzaku. How have you been?"

"Well, I suppose. Did Lloyd mention anything about our new guests? He was at the meeting last night."

The woman shook her head and then gave the humming man a harsh look. He paused in mid-note and looked up at her, his movements full of trepidation.

"I asked you to make notes on the School Council Meeting."

"I did..."

The woman nodded and flicked backward in the notebook. Her eyebrow moved upwards just slightly and she held up the page. It was empty apart from a large hand drawn picture of a giant robot crushing a skyscraper with an insane grin on its face and burning stick people running around in terror. Nunnally giggled and the woman noticed her behind Suzaku for the first time.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't see you there."

She held out her hand.

"Cécile Croomy, at your service. And this "gentleman" is Lloyd Asplund."

The man gave a weak wave before attacking his dessert in earnest. Ms Croomy rolled her eyes at the sight but said nothing. Nunnally was not sure whether to laugh or not.

"Nunnally Lamperouge."

Ms Croomy smiled. It was at once kind but also sad in a way Nunnally could not pinpoint.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Lamperouge."

-0-

From the Principal's office, the President had an almost panoramic view of Academy and its grounds. She could see almost all the cultivated land running down to the tall pine trees which screened the huge solar panels which kept the school buildings powered 20% of the time. Two years ago, the student council had come up here to plan the cultivation of Ashford Academy's grounds. They had drawn squares on the glass, superimposing them over the playing fields below to visualise the vast project. Those colourful markings in whiteboard marker were long rubbed away now and instead, rough cones and arrows were sketched in. These shapes did not represent fields of crops or pastures for animals but instead they showed fields of fire for mounted machineguns and possible infiltration points, patrols and evacuation areas. The President wanted to wipe it all away. It was an intrusion, a cruel reminder of how much things had changed.

"Hullo."

She turned. Gino was standing in the doorway, his armour still on and his mouth set in a faint smile. She nodded in welcome and he joined her in looking out the window. Below, they could see a group of figures planting young tomato plants. Shirley's strawberry blonde hair was easily visible even at this distance.

"She looks well."

The President nodded slightly.

"I suppose but it's hard to tell. She acts like it never even happened. That just isn't healthy."

"Some people just internalise these things."

"Maybe..."

They watched in silence for a moment.

"Gino?"

"Yeah?"

"Were we wrong to think that things would stay the way they were?"

The blonde boy looked at her sideways.

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, Suzaku arrived with two outsiders in tow. They were not threats. They were just lost kids, a lot like we were. And I am making them leave. I feel terrible. But at the same time, that line of reasoning was what caused... I just don't want it to happen again. I don't want to risk anymore on those immature ideals."

Gino inhaled slowly.

"I understand. It was the reason we started the Black Knights after all. Knights for Justice. That is just a childish ideal, something which might never survive in the real world. But that is what makes it strong. If cynicism is an integral part of maturity, it makes you wonder how any adult has ever achieved anything. What do you think the cynics said when some short Corsican said he would rule Europe? Or when the illegitimate lover of Elizabeth III said we would forge an empire in the Americas? Or when some German lieutenant in the trenches of the Ukraine showed his superiors a plan for a land-battleship? Or when your own grandfather said he would give a Panzer legs and harpoon guns? Children are people who have not learnt to accept the system. There is nothing bad about that."

"But what happens when a child and all its ideals meets a full grown man who has lost all of his? What happens when a school girl decides she is going to help the world and the world decides to help itself to her?"

Unaware of the two watching figures in the Principal's office, Shirley continued to plant the tomato plants in the moist earth, a smile on her face.

-0-

"This is strange."

Lloyd tapped a pen against his chin as he checked the machine's readout. Lelouch was already getting dressed behind a screen Cécile had kindly provided. As the council had agreed, Lelouch and Nunnally were both undergoing an extensive physical examination to pinpoint the cause of their memory loss. Neither Lloyd nor Cécile had a proper medical degree but their knowledge of brain and neurological activity (mainly in relation to bio-mechanical linkage systems) were significant and, along with some improvised machinery and a pile of books from the library and nursing station, Academy's resident scientists seemed confident they could get to the bottom of it.

"What is strange?"

"No signs of concussion. No head trauma what-so-ever. I mean, this machine was built to check for flaws in an Yggdrasil drive not a human skull but it would have detected at least _some_ irregularity. 'tsayididn'twarnyou."

Lelouch blanched but Lloyd was already shouting across the room.

"What about the blood work?"

"No signs of infection... Hey!"

"What is it?"

"There are some drug traces in both of their systems... Lots of barbiturates... muscle rejuvenants?"

Lloyd suddenly turned back to his own monitor and began to scroll upwards.

"Actually, I dismissed them as an anomaly in the readouts but there are some weird things too. Their muscles have none of the usual signs of atrophy but there are still some big ones. Also, there are marks on their arms that look like IV needles but the skin has healed strangely. As if the needle were in there for more than just a week or so."

"So what does that mean?"

Lloyd turned back to Lelouch who had just stepped out from behind the screen, fully clothed once more.

"It means who were kept in an artificial coma for at least two months and up to two years."

"What!"

Lloyd began counting down on his fingers.

"One: barbiturates. They are drugs which, in the right doses, can lead to a lowered state of consciousness without a serious risk of death. The range of drugs involved suggests they didn't want to use the same ones too often and risk you becoming resistant to it. The sheer number suggests you were under for quite a while. Two: the amnesia. Your brain was shut off for a long time. Damage could have occurred due to the reduced blood flow or maybe as a direct result of some of the drugs. Three: the atrophy. Your muscles have been kept in decent condition through the use of specific chemicals masquerading as growth hormones but the difference is apparent. Fourth: the strange bruises on your side. Those are no doubt from mechanical "rockers" to prevent bedsores from forming on your skin, another piece of evidence suggesting a long-term period spent unconscious."

Lelouch's brow furrowed.

"But why?"

Lloyd shrugged.

"I know the EU keeps high-security prisoners in a comatose state to keep them docile. People undergoing extensive physiological treatment may be put in a coma but for nowhere near as long as you were. Of course, there is a third possibility."

"And what is that?"

"I believe the Mark II Revenants were created this way."


	5. Chapter 5

Commander Haruki Arai of the Japanese State Police rubbed his split lip and tasted blood. He placed a fresh wad of tissue paper over it, discarding its red-stained predecessor into a growing pile in the glove compartment of his car. It was a souvenir of the most recent arrest today, a woman called Inoue who had managed a surprisingly powerful right hook before she could be subdued. Arai had got his revenge though, by leaving the handcuffed woman in a cell filled with sex-offenders. The thought caused the pain to lessen and the man sighed, unable to postpone his work any longer. With his free hand, he pulled a sheaf of papers from beneath the growing pile of tissues and from it removed the last few sheets from the Ohgi file.

Commander Ohgi had been Arai's predecessor as overseeing officer for the Kōtō Office and his polar opposite. Soft-spoken, soft-hearted, soft-willed, it had been a small miracle the man had managed to get to such a high position in the infamously harsh world of the State Police. But his nervous, kind-hearted exterior had harboured an almost psychotic hatred for those he perceived to be traitors or to have betrayed some sacred trust. This hatred ran like a river of bile through his otherwise sickly sweet personality, startling many by its uncompromising and even violent nature. Arai was smart enough not to underestimate the man and had been willing enough to play second fiddle, at least until the inevitable dismissal came through. Kururugi-era Japan was a place where people like Arai flourished and people like Ohgi withered and died. After two years, Arai's patience finally paid off.

The arrest warrant had come through a week ago. Ohgi must have been expecting it because he had already made plans to flee to the Chinese Federation. Unfortunately for him, a patrol boat had caught him in a random inspection. He had "denied us to the end", a euphemism for him taking his own life. Most former police officers were smart enough to save the last bullet in their magazine for themselves, having witnessed first-hand the methods of the State Police's interrogators. Anyway, Arai had inherited the man's office and all his files. And that was when things became interesting. Most senior officials in the State Police had their own dirty little secrets: links to the Yakuza, drugs, mistresses, illegitimate children, videos of karaoke night... But Ohgi had something else. Arai had followed the breadcrumbs to an almost derelict police computer hidden in a disused storage room. Ohgi had been sure to wipe the computer's memory drive but he had underestimated the prowess of the State Police Tech Department. Painstakingly reconstructed from scraps of information residue and incomplete data caches, the Ohgi file was finally bearing fruit in the form of a terrorist cell. In a single swoop, all of the cell's members had been apprehended or killed; by all accounts the operation had been a complete success. But something did not sit right with Arai. While the rest of the office celebrated upstairs, he was still in his car, looking over the files. The techs had listed words by how often they appeared in the recovered data. Names like Inoue, Minami, Tamaki and Sugiyama all topped the list. The rest were all basic stuff for an underground terrorist group: strike, freedom, safety, police, attack, government, revenge...

All except for number 92 on the list.

"Desvenlafaxine."

It was an antidepressant, quite a potent one apparently. But none of the arrested terrorists or Ohgi himself had had traces of the drug in their blood. He had a list of prescriptions for the drug but the list was huge. He scrolled through it on his car's computer in the idle hope that one of the names would leap out at him. Then the screen blacked out. Arai cursed the machine and rebooted it. It turned on again and the list continued to scroll down. Then it blacked out again. But by now, Arai was interested. The computer had crashed at the same point in the list. He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial for the Tech Department.

"Commander Arai? What can we do for you?"

"I have a list of patients on an antidepressant: Desvenlafaxine. But the computer crashes at one point in the list. I think there is a dead bug in the system."

The State Police used a bank of four supercomputers to deal with the vast amounts of data they both produced and required in their unceasing search for threats to Japan's hard-won stability. These four computers had to be shared between the various competing sections of the State Department. None of the sections trusted each other (no doubt an intentional check to prevent any one agency getting too much power) so their individual firewalls and software security systems often conflicted or attempted to delete each other. The result of this was a lot of crashes whenever an actual bug was in the system as the various antivirus programs all butted heads in their attempts to kill it. Still, once a human Tech officer got onto it, the bug would never stand a chance.

"All right. We found it and traced it back to Commander Ohgi's computer. It was a pretty basic one that prevented the machine's showing one name on the list."

"What was the name?"

"Umm... Kōzuki... Orimi Kōzuki. The listed address is in Tokyo."

"Kōzuki? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Should I run it through the system, sir?"

"Yes. And send the address to my car's computer. I want the Ohgi file closed by tonight."

"Yes sir."

The Kōzuki residence turned out to be within half an hour's drive from the Kōtō Office, a welcome relief from having to go to places like Shinjuku or Shibuya (which still bore the scars of the Sarin Gas Bombing and the National Reclamation respectively). And after a long day and with his split lip beginning to act up again, Arai felt like he deserved a break. The Tech Department called him just as he began looking for a parking lot.

"Commander Arai?"

"Yes?"

"We've got info on Kōzuki. And you are not going to believe it."

Arai raised his eyebrow. He wanted to snap at the man for his informality but his curiosity won out.

"What is it?"

"Orimi Kōzuki. Born: April 7th 1975. Native Japanese..."

"Why is this important?"

The voice on the other end of the line was almost petulant in its response.

"... married the Britannian Ambassador, Leon Stadtfeld, in 1998."

Instantly, all irritation at the impetuous technician was forgotten. A blood-traitor. No. Not just any blood-traitor. _The_ blood-traitor. She had married Stadtfeld, the man whose name had come to epitomise the creeping cancer of Britannia's hold over Japan. It had been he who had insidiously clawed his way to Sawasaki's ear, poisoning him with promises of wealth and titles of Britannian nobility. It had been he who had cunningly stolen Japan's sakuradite wealth out from under their very feet, concealing his vile intent behind lacquered layers of false respectability and assertions of being "just a family man". It had been he who had hammered out the deal which gave Britannia the right to violate the virgin slopes of Mt Fuji and had forced the Japanese nation into little better than slavery to the Empire, threatening Japanese sovereignty in a way unheard of since the time of the Khans. But when the Eleventh Army Corps fled Japan, Stadtfeld had been too slow to escape with them. The rioters had found him and literally torn him apart. The police did nothing. By that point, they were all loyal to Kururugi and his Provisional Diet. Some of them had even joined in.

This was the chance of a lifetime. The people hated most criminals. Public executions and humiliations had become incredibly popular over the past few years. But more than anything else, the public hated traitors. That was what the State Police were meant to do: uncover traitors. And while any traitor is as good (or as bad) as another in terms of law, it is difficult in media terms to properly vilify someone whose sole crime was to forget to un-tick the little box when he entered his password into a public terminal whereas it is much easier for the public to hate someone who literally prostituted herself to a Britannian saboteur and spy. That righteous hatred was going to make Arai very famous. And fame, when carefully managed and nurtured, was enough to catapult some regional manager of a nowhere prefecture into a high-ranking position in the Central Offices in Nagatachō. And from there? A good private school for Rei and Eri. A Lexus instead of his aging Toyota. A large house in a decent part of Tokyo. A pleasant retirement in the mountains with Remi...

All this and more flashed through Haruki Arai's head as he walked between his car and Kōzuki's ground floor apartment. It was a drab prefabricated building, thrown up to replace the vast swathes of Tokyo which had been damaged beyond repair during the Reclamation. The distinct smell of cheap food left to rot lingered in the place, its greasy stench clinging to the insides of Arai's nostrils. The Commander wrinkled his nose slightly and pressed the doorbell. Inside, there was a shout followed by a muffled curse and a long stream of apologies. Arai waited patiently, his hand fingering his 9mm service pistol, more out of force of habit than for fear of any real threat from inside. Even the terrorist's "active" members hadn't put up much of a fight. Except for Inoue.

"Who is it?"

For a moment, Arai thought he had the wrong address. The voice on the other side of the door sounded far too young to be Kōzuki. But then he remembered they had a daughter. She should be about nineteen by now. Things made sense.

"Commander Ohgi sent me."

He had thought up this approach on the way. It relied on Ohgi not getting a message through to them in time, a decent bet considering the rest of the terrorist cell showed no sign of being forewarned. The girl behind the door paused for a moment then he heard the sound of the bolt being slid back. The door opened to reveal a girl of nineteen with distinctive red hair and a very aggressive expression on her youthful face. She did not look Japanese in the slightest so she probably had to pretend to be the daughter of an EU businessman or something. She looked at Arai with thinly veiled suspicion. He noted that she was holding a small purse as it about to stab him with it. Slowly, he removed his service pistol from its holster and laid it on a small table by the door. As he did, she relaxed slightly and said in a clipped tone.

"Do you work for Ohgi?"

He nodded and produced his old ID which listed him as Commander Ohgi's subordinate. At the sight, she seemed more willing to believe him and stepped aside.

"Do you want to come in?"

Arai smiled, a kind paternal sort of expression and the one of the few he allowed himself to wear in front of his own children.

"Thank you."

She nodded curtly. The main room served as a general living and dining area with a modest kitchen built into the far wall. The girl went to the stove to make a pot of tea. With her distracted, Arai was able to remove his shoes without exposing his ankle holster. By the time she had finished, the State Police Officer was sitting cross legged at the small wooden table in the centre of the room. She poured them each a cup (Britannian cups but from a Japanese pot, Arai noted idly) and sat across from him, her blue eyes still hostile.

"Why couldn't Ohgi come himself?"

Arai was quick to respond but careful not to be too quick.

"He is being watched. Internal Affairs raided his office a few days ago."

The girl paled slightly.

"Internal Affairs?"

"Yes. He hasn't been arrested yet but it's only a matter of time. You have to understand..."

The girl snorted but Arai could sense her fear.

"Please, you have to trust us. We are doing everything we can for Ohgi but we can't risk exposing too much."

The lingering distrust remained in her eyes.

"And who is we?"

"Me, Minami, Sugiyama, Inoue... And Tamaki of course."

Her expression softened at the names. The next words were warmed and slightly dreamy.

"How are they?"

Minami and Tamaki were in the morgue, Sugiyama was more than half-way there and Arai didn't think there will be very much left of Inoue by the time his little "administrative error" concerning her cellmates was discovered. Although considering the usual casualty rate for State Office arrests, his statement to the girl was not been a complete lie.

"As well as can be expected."

"That's good."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Arai took his chance.

"I don't think you are safe here."

"And what would you have us do?"

"Follow me. I can get you out of the country tonight before the State Police force anything out of Ohgi."

The girl's eyes darted to a large, Britannian style armchair sitting unnoticed on the other side of the room. Arai followed her eyes and realised there was a person in the chair. He hadn't noticed her, buried under a mound of blankets and unmoving. For a moment, he mistook her for a corpse: her eyes were unfocused and features slack but then he noticed the slow twitching of her breathing.

"Orimi Kōzuki..."

Arai breathed. She looked nothing like the file. Her soft brown eyes were distant and slightly glazed, not a sign that she was thinking but the inverse. A seasoned investigator like Arai could sense the addiction without even looking for the trademark needle marks on the lower arms. Arai now realised why Ohgi had taken out Desvenlafaxine. It was a weak psyco-tropic and would mask any signs of Refrain abuse.

"Have you been looking after her all this time?"

The girl nodded warily. But the impressed look on Arai's face was genuine. His brother-in-law had struggled with a Refrain addiction for two years. The sheer amount of stress the addiction had put on Arai's sister had all but broken her. For a nineteen year old to handle it all on her own... But his professionalism quickly reasserted himself.

"I have a car ready. I can take you to harbour. There are some dock workers there who can help you get on an EU registered ship."

The girl frowned but Arai could sense the silent battle being waged inside her head. For a moment, he feared she would stay and then he would have to arrest them here. And information gleaned through the State Police's "methods" was always less reliable than information willingly given by a suspect.

"All right."

Arai smiled.

"It's going to be all right..."

The girl walked to the door to grab her mother's shoes. Arai turned back to her drugged out mother. This might be a harder sell than he had thought. He wanted a figure to be hated and even he could not help but feel only pity for this broken human being. Behind him, he heard a faint click. Slowly he turned, his body tensing as he recognised the sound. The girl was standing by the door, his 9mm in her hand and the safety off. She looked at him hard for a moment. Then she spoke.

"What is the name of my brother? If Ohgi sent you, you would know my brother's name. What is it?"

Arai looked at her blankly. The file had contained no mention of a male child. Was she bluffing? But his confused expression had already given the game up. She tensed her finger on the trigger. Unfortunately for her, the standard issue 9mm service pistol has a wickedly variable trigger pull and today was simply a very bad day. For an inexperienced shooter like the girl, the 7lb trigger pull was the same as jammed.

Arai jumped forward, tackling her cleanly and knocking her over. She recovered far quicker than Arai had expected and dove into the attack, using the heavy weight of the pistol as a club. Arai caught a nasty gash across the forehead before he grabbed her hand and twisted the pistol out of it. It fell to one side and was quickly forgotten in the desperate exchange of blows between the two. Arai was an experienced field officer and had both height and weight on her but she was unusually talented and fought with all the desperation of someone with nothing to lose. He caught two rapid blows to the stomach followed by a vicious head butt which reopened his split lip. He recovered fast enough to protect his groin from her knee and rolled away, reaching into his ankle holster. She kicked the pistol out of his hand before he could cock it and they were away again. He caught one of her hands in his own and twisted but she just used the opportunity to get in close and drive her elbow into his face. He groaned, stunned with pain. She grabbed his dropped 9mm and raised it, ready to shoot.

"Kallen? Kallen! What is going on?"

Orimi Kōzuki seemed to have come out of her trance. The girl turned to her mother, distracted for only a second. But it was enough. Arai gave her a rapid right hook, not dissimilar to the one he had received several hours previously. Unprepared to take the blow, she stumbled, the pistol slipping from her fingers as she brought her hands to her face. Pressing his advantage, Arai hooked her right leg out from underneath her. She fell and he used his greater weight to pin her to the ground. Her limbs flailed but his police training kicked in and he caught her arms in a nasty lock, her angry curses giving away to pained grunts as the limbs were nearly rotated out of their sockets. Careful to keep her from breaking his grip on her wrists, Arai grabbed his 9mm. The girl's struggles were stilled instantly by the cold touch of the barrel on the back of her neck. For a moment, they both panted hard from the fight's exertion. It could not have lasted more than a minute from start to finish. The only sound was Orimi's plaintive demands for her daughter to help her. At last, the girl spoke.

"Who are you?"

Her voice was laboured with Arai's knee crushing her lungs but he could get understand well enough.

"I didn't lie. I'm State Police. You're under arrest for treason against Japan, collaborating with terrorist groups and harbouring a fugitive. I'd tell you your rights but I'm pretty sure we both know how much they'll matter once you step inside a State Department Interrogation Room. Now..."

Arai suddenly felt a wave of nausea, as if he was about to be sick. He blinked hard but the feeling remained. Something rose in his chest and he coughed, his vision going blurry for a moment. When it cleared, he noticed red specks on the pale skin of the girl's neck. He frowned and looked down at his chest. A spreading mass of deep red stained the starched white of his uniform shirt. As he looked, the nausea rose to greater heights and the blurriness returned. His arms began to tremble slightly and he fell, his left leg giving away before his right so he rolled off the girl. He lay on his back, his breaths becoming shuddering and an awful wetness intruding on his lungs. He coughed and the queer, lingering tang of blood overwhelmed his tongue. The girl had scrambled to her feet, horrified by the sight of her attacked dying. As brutally as she had fought, she had probably not seen a man die before.

Arai wondered idly at how little pain there was. It was more a deep ache than anything else, a strange feeling like getting pinched on a partially numbed arm. He had always thought that being shot was either quick, clean and fatal or long, scream-filled and ultimately recoverable. As he lay on his back in this unfamiliar apartment, he wondered which case he fell into. He wondered if Remi would take the girls to see him in hospital. He wondered if getting shot in the line of duty would get him a raise for bravery or a demotion for incompetence. He wondered who the man standing in the doorway was and why he was wearing such an ostentatious black and gold cloak like some strange anime hero. He wondered if the silenced pistol on the cloaked man's belt was the gun which had shot him. He wondered why the girl had turned so pale at his entrance. He wondered why they were speaking Britannian and not Japanese. He wondered whether they would steal his car or if the cloaked man had his own. He wondered why the man had chosen to wear a strange purple fish-bowl thing on his head and if it had come from the same cosplay store as the cloak. He wondered how long it would take for his absence to be reported. He wondered why the girl trusted this masked man with both herself and her mother. He wondered what his own mother would say when she found out that her youngest child was slowly dying in a ground floor apartment in Kōtō District. Then the door closed and Commander Haruki Arai of the Japanese State Police stopped wondering about anything.

* * *

><p>There were many reasons Rivalz Cardemonde tolerated Anya's 'eccentric' nature. He liked to think that he did it because he understood the delicate nature of her mental condition and how alone it made her feel. To an extent, this was true. It had been he who had met the girl wandering through the wastes, half-dead and mumbling incoherently and had set her back on her feet. Then there was the money. Rivalz was not a greedy person but there were some things he enjoyed too much to bare losing. The generous supplement that Anya's Revenant hunting business brought in allowed him to live with such creature comforts even when the diner he inherited from his uncle saw no visitors. And, though he would never admit it even to himself, he also tolerated her because she was <em>hot<em>. Before the war, Rivalz had had a weakness for more "well-developed" girls but there was something about the casual way Anya handled that oversized Russian sniper rifle of hers...

Regardless of all that, she had crossed a line this time.

"There is no way I am going to allow a goddamn Revenant into my house."

He felt slightly braver than he would normally, mainly due to the fact he was standing on a balcony at least twelve metres from the ground and all the bottom floor entrances were barricaded closed (a very necessary precaution this far into the Dolina Diabła). Anya looked up at him, her head cocked slightly to one side and giving him that blank look that translated to "stop being silly and just go with it". Well, he was not going to be coerced into doing something suicidal by a girl with the common sense of a lemming.

"Should I kill him?"

The Revenant's voice sent shivers down Rivalz spine and his groping fingers became even more frantic in their search for the ugly Remington shotgun that he kept next to his bed. Would buckshot even scratch a Revenant? Anya needed to use those hideously expensive imported bullets. He should have asked her about that before tonight.

And there was another thing. Why the hell was she just standing there, giving him The Look and not blowing the machine-corpse's brains (did they have brains? He remembered hearing somewhere that they didn't) all over Southern Oregon? And why was the Revenant just standing there and not trying to dice her with those creepy claws of his? It was like a lion and a gazelle had just appeared beneath his balcony and demanded entrance. Except they were both predators. A lion and a cheetah? A lion and a shark?

Damn.

He really should not let himself get distracted like that.

"Please tell me I am dreaming."

Anya's look became even more blank. Rivalz was not sure if the Revenant had a similar expression. Being made from metal and dead flesh had the benefit of producing a very good poker face. Not that anyone would want to play Poker with a Revenant...

"Stop getting distracted!"

He looked down.

"I said that out loud, didn't I?"

Both Anya and the Revenant nodded. Rivalz closed his eyes and counted to ten. As he did, he promised himself that if they are both still there when he finished and were not just figments of his sleep-deprived mind, he would pour himself a glass of the strongest thing behind the counter and open the door.

Two minutes later, he was pushing open the heavy wooden door, an entire bottle of whisky in one hand.

* * *

><p>"What is she doing?"<p>

Only two shots into the whisky and the boy no longer seemed to find the idea of drinking with a reanimated corpse all that absurd. The Revenant supposed that in the candle light and with the help of the alcohol, it might have looked almost human, albeit with a camera lens instead of an eye.

"Anya?"

Rivalz swung around on the stool. He span too far and had to do an awkward 360 degree turn to see what the girl was up to. If the Revenant had both eyebrows and the capacity to move them, they would have gone up at the sight of someone half-drunk on only two sips of whisky. The girl was sitting in a booth by a shuttered window. A candle sitting on the table illuminated the soft lines of her face as she scribbled intently on a ratty notebook. Rivalz turned back to the Revenant and gave him a look which made it reconsider whether or not the boy was truly drunk.

"She's memorising."

Sub-dermal armour plating is a wonderful thing when, say, someone is firing small calibre rounds into your face but for the more mundane affairs of conveying simple things like expression, its stiffness proved quite unhelpful. The Revenant was therefore forced to vocalise its confusion.

"What?"

"Memorising. She cannot retain memories effectively. Anything she does not record on paper gets lost after a week or so."

The Revenant's already stiff body seemed to tense slightly. Could it be? But why would the Emperor do it to Anya Alstreim of all people? The girl was minor nobility and her parents had only managed to get her into Aries Villa through Ruben Ashford (who had owed her father gambling debts from college). Money well spent, in the Revenant's opinion. If Lady Alstreim had received instruction from any member of the Royal Family other than Lady Marianne, the Revenant was confident she would not have survived this long. Old pride died hard and the Revenant was quite uniquely qualified to say that even death did little to halt it. But still, why would the Emperor care? Unless it had something to do with what had happened in the G-1 that day...

It made sense. Alstreim might have been there, after all. She might have seen what had happened. All other evidence (surveillance footage, the body and the Royal Children themselves) had been whisked away by the OSI and had disappeared into that most secretive of organisations. More than anything else, the Revenant wanted to know the details of its Lady's assassination. In that search, even her son could wait. For while its loyalty to its Lady's orders were valued above its own life, her assassination had been a stain on his honour that could never be removed. No, more than a stain. It had torn its honour into pieces and scattered them to the wind. The Revenant was the lowest of beings, a Knight who had outlived the person whose life it had sworn to protect above all other things. Only discovering the true nature of her death and destroying those responsible could even begin to ease its torment.

The Revenant stood. The boy stiffened but it did not attack. Instead it marched over to the girl's side and sat next to her in the booth. She looked up at her with those emotionless red eyes. The Revenant could not shake the oddness of those eyes. The girl he had known had been shy, yes, but her eyes had not had that strangeness about them. It looked down at her notebook. It looked like a log of the short but violent day and a half since they had met in the forest and almost killed each other. The Dolina Diabła was the most Revenant infested patch of land on the West Coast and most of them were programmed for frontline fighting, that is to say: kill anything without a proper Britannian ID. Needless to say, working IDs were all but nonexistent and only heavily armed and particularly fool hardy individuals ventured very far into the valley. Apart from being violent and out of control, these berserk Revenants were the only reliable source of sakuradite in the homeland outside of EU control. Revenant hunters like Alstreim would siphon off the sakuradite fluid that mixed with blood to form the machine's circulation system and then sell it to wandering traders. It explained the bizarre syringe like device the girl had tried to stab the Revenant with when they had first met. She had since apologised although it considered such formalities unnecessary. The Revenant was more thankful that she had not pressed her attack and it had not been forced to kill her. It was pretty sure that its already heavy soul could not take any more innocent blood.

She closed the book before he could read further and shot him a vaguely reproachful look before she grabbed another one, this one with the word "People" printed on the front.

"I am not a person."

The Revenant pointed out. She gave him the same reproachful look again.

"I am not going to make another whole notebook just for you."

It nodded slightly at that. Alstreim opened the book at a fresh page and began to sketch the Revenant's face. It leaned in slightly, intrigued. She did not sketch like the Revenant had seen Clovis draw. Her lines were cruder, lacking the practiced refinement of Clovis' easy masterpieces but at the same time, they both seemed to capture something about the subject. In just a few strokes, the girl had managed to take the essence of the machine sitting beside her and fix it on paper. It was... beautiful in its own way. The Revenant had never been particularly enamoured with art, even before its death but it could appreciate the way Alstreim drew. She looked up at him and cracked a faint smile that might have even been genuine.

* * *

><p>It had been a long day and Lelouch's head was still spinning. The entire affair with Lloyd had left him slightly shaken. Of course, as the man repeated numerous times, neither Lelouch nor Nunnally could <em>possibly<em> be Revenants. The cybernetics would have come up on the scanner and, as far as anyone knew, no Revenant was capable of passing as a human being for any period (conveniently forgetting the machine which had infiltrated the Rookery). The scientist's assurances had gone some way towards assuaging his fears but the idea left him confused and angry. Nunnally had just laughed at the idea of being Revenant and bounded off to some part of the campus. Lelouch had made to follow but had been accosted by a lanky blonde who introduced himself as Gino and proceeded to invade his personal space at every opportunity. Had it not been for Suzaku's whispered assurances, he might have been tempted to ask if Gino swung _that_ way. They had passed an interesting if strange day. Lelouch was still wary about trusting Academy and its residents but there had been no attempts to stab him in the back, use him in weird medical experiments (other than Lloyd's inspection of his head) or try and turn him into soylent green (it was part of an incomplete memory and he was not sure what that meant but Gino had laughed for a good minute and a half when he said it).

"You all right in there?"

Suzaku had appeared in the doorway. Lelouch sat up on his bed.

"I'm fine. Have you seen Nunnally?"

"She's having a 'girl's day out' with Shirley and Monica."

Lelouch's lexicon was vast but that particular phrase escaped him. His amnesia made the question only marginally less embarrassing.

"I don't know what that means."

To his surprise, Suzaku laughed. Not at him but as if he had said something quite funny.

"None of us do..."

Nunnally took that moment to appear. Unlike her brother, the day's activity seemed to have only buoyed her spirit and she was still brimming with energy.

"They have lambs! Aren't they just the cutest things you ever saw?"

Lelouch smiled at the sight of his sister but he lacked the energy to deal with the hyper sixteen year old.

"I suppose. But you do realise they are going to get eaten?"

If Nunnally had heard Lelouch's dark comment, she failed to show it. She was already talking about the different guns that Monica had shown her at the firing range. Suzaku looked somewhat worried that she managed to leap between the subject of adorable farm animals and firearms with such speed.

"... and also the old L8A3s that the Army used during the invasion of Area 7. They have more of a kick 'cause of the old .30-06 cartridge but apparently they can really do a number on a Revenant as long as you go for the face. Monica gave me this to replace my .32."

Nunnally held out a blocky pistol made from dull metal and matte black plastic.

"It's a .45 automatic, much more manageable than that revolver and quicker to reload too. By the time we finished, I could put six shots out of nine in the centre and the rest on the body. Monica says that I'm a natural..."

Lelouch was a doting brother by any standard but that did not mean he shared his sister's passion for guns. He was neither a soldier nor a diplomat (his sister excelled at both) but a tactician and strategist. Post-war Britannia had very little use for men like him. Eventually, Nunnally calmed down and Lelouch used the last reserves of his energy to argue that she really shouldn't sleep with a loaded pistol under her pillow, no matter how safe the gun or how dangerous their situation.

It had been a _very_ long day.

* * *

><p>"Suzaku!"<p>

The boy was just about to retire to his own quarters when he heard his name being called. He turned and saw a slightly flustered looking Shirley running after him. Unfortunately for the strawberry blonde girl, he stopped a little quicker than she anticipated and she practically bowled into him. Had it been anyone but Suzaku, they would have both fallen over in a tangle of limbs. But the Japanese martial arts prodigy was made of sterner stuff and ended up catching her as she fell. They both froze, aware that if the Prez saw them like this (and one did not need to be very far away to come to the assumption that they were about to engage in a very passionate kiss) they would never hear the end of it. Slowly, Shirley pulled herself to her feet while Suzaku scanned the darkness for potential witnesses. When at last they were confident the moment had passed unobserved, Suzaku turned to Shirley and cleared his throat. She looked at him confused for a moment then seemed to realise that she was the one who had initiated the conversation.

"Oh sorry..."

"No problem. What's on your mind?"

She looked down at her shoes, her face beginning to redden slightly. Then she produced such a gush of words that Suzaku had trouble taking in it all.

"It's not fair! Lelouch and Nunna are good people. Really nice and friendly and everything but the Prez is just going to throw them out because they are from the Outside. I mean, you are from the Outside and it isn't as if we are some tribe who have forgotten there is a world outside of Academy. There is a big world out there but we are just going to hide! What did Lelouch and Nunna ever do to us? It just isn't fair to say that everyone from somewhere is bad and everyone from somewhere else is okay. People used to say that about Japan but you proved them wrong so why don't they listen?"

Suzaku looked at Shirley with an odd mix of amusement, agreement and pity. She really was that clueless, that innocent? She may have chosen not to remember what had happened that night and Suzaku was glad she didn't but it also meant she never understood why people got so touchy about Outsiders when she was around. It was horribly ironic that she was railing against rules which had been put in place for _her_ sake.

"Shirley..."

She looked up at him and Suzaku almost stepped back. There was something not right about her smile. Not right at all. When she spoke, it bore no trace of the tone she had used before.

"I never thought I could be normal again. Not after that night. I felt dirty, Suzaku. Filthy. I thought that I would always be different, that they had broken something in me. But when I saw Lelouch... You have to understand. I never thought I could do something as childish... as stupid as fall in love with someone at first sight. Not after what happened."

She looked at him, imploring.

"I never thought I could do something so normal..."

Suzaku was at a loss. Shirley was a close friend, a good friend but he had never expected her to open up to _him_. What was he supposed to say? What could he possibly say to something like that? Tears began to form in her bright green eyes and Suzaku stepped forward and embraced her as an older brother might. He remembered something the Prez had once said to him when he had first come to Academy.

"_Academy is a family. Gino is your dumb older brother. Lloyd is your absent minded uncle and Cécile is his long suffering partner/carer. Monica is the older sister-cum-mother figure who worries about just about everything that can happen and quite a few that can't. Luciano is your troubled cousin who won't admit he's emo or whatever. And Shirley? Shirley is everyone's baby sister."_

And so they stood there, Shirley weeping weakly into Suzaku's shoulder while he held her tight and told her it would all be okay. This time, there was no awkwardness about their intimacy.

* * *

><p>AN

More than half of this chapter was devoted to Japan for snakeboy33 who seems quite eager to see what Kallen has been up to. Originally, it was going to be from Kallen's PoV in the second part but I was having too much fun with Arai to give him up. Hope you enjoyed it. There's a bit of mood whiplash between Arai - Rivalz - Jeremiah - Lelouch - Suzaku PoVs as the more light hearted sections are alternated with darker stuff but I want to get to the meat of the story and the players are only just getting into position! And please review. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

EDIT - cleared up some clunky phrases, especially in the last two scenes. I really should stop posting so late at night...


	6. Chapter 6

Just a little note: since it is highly unlikely that Britannia would name a state after a failed revolutionary, the state of Washington is referred to in this fic as Ricardo (a Britannian Emperor).

* * *

><p>The conquest of the Britannian homeland is usually solely attributed to the European Second Army (the Amerika Korps in common parlance), an idea which sadly neglects the sacrifices of the European Seventh Army and the protracted campaign they fought to secure the Amerika Korps' flank as it made its infamous offensive towards Pendragon. The Seventh were all veterans of the Siberian Front, violent if strategically insignificant scuffles with the Chinese over the Mongolian and Manchurian border. When the EU and the Chinese signed the Treaty of Nanjing to allow each other to focus on killing Britannia and seizing its colonies (a short-lived but productive peace for both powers), the Seventh were sent across the North Pacific to secure Alaska and the western parts of Area 2. While the Amerika Korps were still getting off their ships, the Seventh had already helped found the Sovereign State of Vancouver (a name that pleased very few but was widely admitted to be better than the province's old name of Britannian Colombia). This nation now dominates the western part of the former Area 2, stretching from Anchorage in the north to Seattle in the south and pretty much everything in between. The Seventh then split into two parts. Five divisions were sent east to secure the rest of Area 2 and to open a supply route between the two European Army Groups. The other two divisions were sent south into Ricardo and further into Oregon. It was here, however, that they discovered a problem. Unlike the roads in Area 2, which were built to assist the Britannian Army if they needed to put down potential unrest, most of the roads in the actual homeland were made from asphalt and unsuitable for moving heavy equipment. Only one road was made from concrete, the I-5, and could therefore bear the weight of the Seventh's tank carriers. Knowing this, the Britannian Army under General Calares began Operation Linesman, having received authorisation to begin Revenant operations after the Battle of the Orchards several days previously. In towns all the way from Portland to Grant's Pass (just west of Medford), the Britannian Army slaughtered their own people and repurposed their corpses as weapons of war. This stretch of the I-5 became known as the Dolina Diabła, a phrase coined by the members of the Second Polish Motor-rifle Division who were ordered to clear it. Translations vary but most agree it is something along the lines of "the Devil's Playground". More literally it is "the Valley of Hell" but the surviving members of the Second Motor-rifle Division (and there are few enough) say that something is lost in that translation and prefer the first.<p>

This delightful stretch of real-estate is estimated to contain around 100,000 Mark VII Revenants and between 10,000 and 40,000 Mark IVs. It is also the main reason that the EU has not tried to "pacify" the West Coast. For your average Revenant hunter, the dangers of entering the region are threefold. The first are the Revenants themselves. Many assume that they are just dumb zombies and can be taken down as easy as in the old movies which cannot be further from the truth. Even an un-armoured Mark VII can take an entire magazine from most Britannian rifles and keep coming. A Mark IV will usually survive anything short of a .50cal and even then, you will need a very skilled marksman to keep the monster in the cross-hairs as it dives and feints with inhuman speed. The second danger is from the EU. After the Second Motor-rifles were all but destroyed trying to reach California, they wisely kept their infantry divisions behind the Walkowicz Line, a broad strip of forts and barbed wire that runs through the ruins of Portland and has so far kept the Vancouver-held city of Seattle safe from the Revenant threat. While the monsters are not sentient, they do retain enough strategic merit to know better than to brave the killing fields of the EU defences (which makes them smarter than the Chinese Generals trying to wrestle control of the MEF's oilfields away from the EU Fourth Army) and never venture past Portland. Still, the EU routinely bombs the area, either from one of their carrier groups in the Pacific or their airfields outside of Seattle. Large swathes of the I-5 have been turned into fields of ugly grey ash where the UAF sprayed the forest with white phosphorous, the one of the few things that burns long and hard enough to properly kill a Revenant. The EU planes also deploy queer airdropped-landmines from low altitude. These nasty little things looked quite a bit like spiders squashed flat, a metal disk with spindly wires splayed out in every direction. Touching one of these wires causes the mine to detonate in an omni-directional spray of tungsten shrapnel much like a scaled down version of anti-knightmare chaos mines. These same mines are a potent risk for Revenant hunters as well as their prey but the EU probably just consider that a bonus. And then there is a third reason why hunting Revenants in the Dolina Diabła is so dangerous: other hunters. Occasionally, some failed Revenant hunter comes to the realisation that all the above mentioned hazards are too much and it is so much easier to just kill other, more successful hunters and steal the sakuradite they have collected. And ultimately a smart human opponent with a rifle is just as if not more scary as some dumb Revenants or the EU's indiscriminate air strikes.

All these dangers were explained by Alstreim, who had read them out from one of her notebooks in a slightly bored monotone. They were seated in the living area that sat on top of the reinforced diner. The Revenant was under strict orders to remain here and not let itself be seen by the diner's clientele of Revenant hunters on their way north. Cardemonde was downstairs plying his trade with bottles of imported liquor and local moonshine. Alstreim was sitting cross legged on her bed, another notebook open on her lap. Arrayed on the mattress were the various pieces of her disassembled rifle. The girl carefully cleaned each component, checking and rechecking the carefully drawn diagrams in her notebook as she did. Almost every task Alstreim ever did required a notebook on hand to "remember" how to do it and to add improvements if necessary. Sometimes and only through endless repetition, she could ingrain certain actions in muscle memory but everything else had to be written, recorded and checked with sometimes alarming frequency. Alstreim's room was covered in notes, lists and pictures which told her what to do each morning and she followed them with meticulous care. Inside the bathroom, a note taped to the inside of the mirror told her to brush her teeth. A sign in the kitchen told her what foods she did and did not like. It was more than a little bit worrying, the fact that the girl needed a book to tell her the way around her own house and yet she could easily hit a man sized target at over eight hundred yards but the Cardemonde boy seemed to find it normal and the Revenant knew better than to point it out to Alstreim. She would just give him that blank stare of hers and make the corpse-machine feel slightly uncomfortable.

"Tell me. What does being a Revenant feel like?"

Alstreim spoke without looking up from her notebook, her hands busy lubricating the bolt action. The Revenant cocked its head to one side, a habit it had picked up from Alstreim to express confusion. Neither of them was particularly skilled at facial expressions.

"What?"

After a few days of practice, the Revenant's voice was becoming less grating. Not quite human but getting closer.

"Revenants. I memorise so much about them..." she waved a hand over a sagging bookshelf filled with her notebooks, "but I don't think I talked to one."

The Revenant nodded. It made sense. While Bartley had intended Code-R to be a way of producing cheap, uncomplaining labour that would make the Number system redundant, his plans to exterminate most of Britannia's colonial subjects were put on hold by the war and, after the Battle of the Orchards, his designs were weaponised under orders from Empress Guinevere. All Revenants were now operating under battlefield protocols. Back during the war, some Revenants had served as stretcher bearers, orderlies, even administrative roles. While Revenant surgery was not true resurrection (Jeremiah Gottwald's former body remains the only exception) some things could be passed over. Actions which have been ingrained in muscle memory or which that brain had a propensity for could sometimes survive. But it seemed all the Revenants in the Dolina Diabła were built for slaughter. That explained why people thought Revenants were zombies. But that was simply not true. They were like... robots in a way; relics of a very different time that still faithfully follow orders for their long dead masters, unable to stop or consider any other way.

"I am not a true Revenant. Not now. I was before... Before you shot me I suppose. I was serial designation: OR49-G3."

"OR49-G3."

Alstreim wrote down the serial number and looked at it oddly for a moment.

"Orange."

"What?"

She looked up, another one of her almost-smiles on her face.

"Your name is Orange."

It is very difficult to splutter when your lungs are just pumps but the Revenant managed to do it and quite spectacularly at that.

"No! That's just... Look, the designation means Order Revenant 49th Brigade - Gottwald 3rd Platoon. OR49-G3."

The half-smile remained on her face, causing a deep unease in the Revenant's stomach. As if something had just happened that it would never live down. Quickly, it tried to change the subject.

"I am not a proper Revenant now. That night, I died. For real. My brain stopped working, my heart was shredded, my spinal cord was torn apart... not even the most advanced regeneration techniques could have made me animate again. And I ended up in... Purgatory was what he called it. I cannot remember what happened there clearly but I remember a boy. He sent me back. Not just my mind but my consciousness, all of my memories... No Revenant surgery ever achieved that. In a way, I'm human again. My apologies but I cannot tell you anything about Revenants you do not already know."

If Alstreim was surprised by his explanation or disappointed by his lack of useful information, she did not show it. Instead, she just slowly reassembled her rifle. The Revenant itself looked out the window. Heavy metal shutters protected it from attack and also allowed it to look into the diner's modest courtyard without being seen by the handful of men milling inside it, trading ammunition and loud stories of their own exploits. Most of them looked ex-military and the rest looked like former game hunters or doomed amateurs. Alstreim appeared at the Revenant's side. She was holding yet another notebook. As she spoke, she began checking the faces against her sketches. It was a surprisingly quick process. Her notebook contained less than fifty people and more than half had a large black cross through their sketches. It did not take a great stretch of imagination to figure out what that meant. The Cardemonde boy walked out the front, a tray of beer bottles in his hands. As he came out, the conversation ceased. Then...

"Hey! Rivalz, my man!"

It was one of the ex-military types but unlike the others, he was clean shaven and had almost feminine features. The Revenant might have mistaken him for an amateur if it were not for the heavily modified Enfield rifle on his back and his obvious familiarity with it.

"Laslow. Please."

Cardemonde tried to dodge the man's arm but his movement was restricted by the tray of bottles. The Laslow character pulled him close with disturbing tenderness. The boy tugged at the man's arm but Laslow seemed quite a bit stronger than his form suggested.

"Laslow! For god's sake!"

One of the military guys swiped another beer from the boy's tray.

"Hey! You need to pay for that!"

Laslow leaned in close and whispered something into Cardemonde's ear. The boy's eyes widened and his struggles became slightly more frantic.

"You sick..."

"Hello."

The Revenant realised that Alstreim had disappeared. Now she reappeared, standing in the front door of the diner. Her voice was quiet but still carried enough for everyone to hear. Some of the rougher types gave her looks akin to starving wolves faced with a lost lamb.

"Hello to you too, my dear."

Two of them approached her, their expressions growing steadily more feral. She ignored them and spoke to Cardemonde.

"Are you all right, Rivalz?"

The boy nodded, still in Laslow's awkward embrace. She walked forward slightly. One of the men who had advanced on her lunged and there was a flash of movement. Suddenly, Alstreim was sitting on one of the wooden picnic tables, something in her hand. The man who had lunged looked around confused for a moment before he realised where she went. There was a faint metal "ping" noise and then a splash. The girl held up her handiwork. It was a grenade, one of the old Britannian hand-thrown fragmentation ones and it was inside of a beer glass. The man patted his chest. She must have swiped the explosive from his harness when he tried to jump her.

"What in god's name..."

Alstreim put a finger to her lips and raised the glass. A glint of metal around her ring finger revealed the fact she had pulled out the pin. All around the courtyard, there were appalled expressions at what the girl was doing. In an enclosed space like this, a frag grenade would kill everyone in the courtyard. And the only thing preventing it from exploding was the safety lever which was held in place by the beer glass. The man who she had stolen the grenade from stepped towards her but she just raised the beer glass higher, threatening to drop it onto the courtyard's concrete floor.

"You wouldn't dare..."

Both the Revenant and Cardemonde shook their heads at that statement. There was remarkably little Alstreim would not do if she wanted, which is why Cardemonde often lamented her lack of common sense and self-preservation. Alstreim was wearing one of her half-smiles and it seemed to be pretty successful at creeping out the diner's clients. Laslow's eyes narrowed.

"Your girlfriend is pretty psycho, Rivi. Maybe you want a change of pace..."

Cardemonde, still very pale at the hand grenade that Alstreim was bouncing from hand to hand, shrugged off Laslow's loosened grip and made his way back into the diner. Before he did, Alstreim had fixed one of the client's with The Look. After just ten seconds, the man cracked and returned the stolen beer to Cardemonde who thanked him tersely and returned to the diner. When he came back out, his Remington was in his hand.

"I think I'll close up early today. Hope you don't mind..."

The two groups glared at each other (well, Alstreim did not glare so much as stare blankly and play with her deadly toy). Slowly, the clientele began to back out. The amateurs were first. Then the former game hunters. At last, only Laslow and his military buddies remained. The effeminate ex-soldier shrugged, blew Cardemonde a mocking kiss and marched out. When they were gone and the gate bolted, the boy turned on Alstreim.

"What the _fuck_ were you doing?"

And for the first time since the Revenant had met her three days ago, Anya Alstreim laughed.

* * *

><p>Suzaku wanted to leave as early as possible so that they could get to their overnight stop before nightfall. The journey was not all that far in terms of distance but they would have to pass through the Earldom of Medford and that alone made the boy a little nervous. He had heard far too many bad stories about the place to want to go anywhere near. Still, he felt sort of bad for Lelouch and Nunnally as they were roused in the predawn hours. Nunnally especially had seemed so happy in Academy and even Lelouch had cracked a smile or two the day before. It was cruel to drag the two away from a place they had found genuine happiness. Suzaku bit his lip. Perhaps the reason for his rush was the incident with Shirley last night. He did not know what to say to her if he saw her again today and he was bitterly aware that the boy who had managed to crack her shell was being sent away. He was not sure if he could face her.<p>

"Suzaku?"

Nunnally was giving him a faintly concerned look and he gave her a forced smile.

"You ready?"

She nodded. The .45 Monica had given her was quite prominently displayed on her hip and her thin cloak had been replaced with an patched but substantial overcoat with the Ashford symbol carefully removed; Academy had stayed a secret from the rest of the world for good reason. Lelouch appeared at her side. His pack was stuffed full of books from the library. Suzaku hoped that they were books that the library had multiple copies of but decided not to ask. Both of them looked slightly bleary this early in the morning. Suzaku made a mental note to brew some tea as soon as they got into the air.

"Let's go."

The landing field was lightly dusted with dew drops and the air was sharp and chilled like that first breath after a stick of chewing gum. Monica and Gino were both on watch along the palisade but a handful of Black Knights in their distinctive black combat armour were there to see them off and to help with the mooring ropes. The darkness caused them to fumble about the relatively simple task and by the time they were ready to leave, the glow of the approaching sun was beginning to warm the inky sky. Nunnally crawled into the bunk room and collapsed onto the thin mattress immediately. Lelouch offered to help feed the boiler but was quickly exhausted. Suzaku didn't mind too much; he was used to doing these sorts of things on his own. As the final ropes were untied and Suzaku checked they had fuel and water to last them to Mercy, a figure appeared. It strode down from the main Academy building, slowly building into a run. A flash of strawberry blonde hair removed all doubt. Suzaku tried to slow the Lancelot's ascent but it was already climbing. They only had time to see her wave and yell something that was lost in the roar of the boilers.

Then they were two hundred feet up and still climbing, Academy's buildings rapidly turning into doll houses and then into distant patches of white in the green of the forest. They flattened out at around eight hundred feet and found a warm air current that sent them towards Mercy at a steady forty miles an hour over ground. Now, Mercy is not the town's real name. Its full name is "Mercy's End", named for the final resting place of the famous pioneer and explorer Harold L Mercy. Back before the war, the settlement had won third place in the Imperial Tribune's "Town Names that No-one Thought Too Hard About" competition and most people preferred to call it by the significantly less sinister: Mercy. The town was the main stopping point for air-merchants passing through the Dolina Diabła and the last stop for their foot-slogging cousins. While the Dolina Diabła was probably the single most dangerous stretch of land on the entire West Coast, there was nothing in it that could threaten an airship flying a quarter mile above the ground other than the occasional EU strike bomber and they would never waste ammunition on some small time Britannian traders. As such, Mercy was the largest Britannian-held trading settlement for several hundred miles and the only major settlement in Southern Oregon that did not pay tribute to the Earl of Medford (excluding Academy of course but that was a different matter entirely). Mercy was also the main contractor for the various mercenary outfits and foreign PMCs that operated in the region. The Black Knights occasionally did jobs for them in order to secure vital supplies for Academy without exposing its existence. From Mercy, it was a long day's flying to reach Seattle, not including several hours dealing with EU security checks along the border.

"Lelouch?"

The boy jerked slightly in his seat as if he had been on the verge of dosing off and looked at Suzaku with a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"Yes?"

"Could you make some tea?"

Lelouch eyes Suzaku warily, unsure if he was being teased or not.

"Sure."

Lelouch's tea was awful but his attempt at making breakfast was far better. Suzaku, used to a mix of pre-made noodles and Cécile's cuisine (which ranged from "unusual but surprisingly nice" to "just sickening"), found Lelouch's fried potato and flour pancakes quite delicious. Even Nunnally managed to rouse herself long enough to eat an entire plate of the things before she staggered back into bed.

"I think you'd make a good house-wife one day, Lelouch."

"Shut up, Suzaku."

The rest of the day was uneventful. Lelouch and Nunnally spent most of it on top of the gasbag with some binoculars, looking for air-pirates or raiders from Medford. The sun, now it was risen, was warm enough and the Lamperouge siblings enjoyed a quiet day of rest, Nunnally observing the skies and soaking the sun while Lelouch devoured the borrowed books with incredible speed. Despite the fact that they were leaving Academy and all of its kind people, they seemed cheerful. As the day was drawing to its close and the first distant lights of Mercy appeared on the horizon, Nunnally leant against Suzaku's arm and whispered sleepily that she would be happy if every day could be like that one. Suzaku, Lelouch and Nunnally, all safe and content and in each other's company. If he had been a little more world-weary, Suzaku would have laughed at the perfectly clichéd situation and wondered when it would inevitably fall apart. But instead, he decided to enjoy whatever happiness he could while it lasted. If he did not, he didn't think he could remain sane for very long.

* * *

><p>He was not sure where he had picked up the tune but it pleased him greatly as he hummed it under his breath. Everyone else in the street was busy minding their own business and paid no attention to the teenage boy strolling through the town with a bounce in his step and a cheerful smile on his face. And why shouldn't he be happy? The boy knew no happiness other than that of a job well done and he had completed his last mission very well indeed. He had not even needed to use his Geass, a great mercy considering the strain it put on his heart after so many uses over the years. Not only that, he had bluffed his way out by convincing the target's two partners that the other was to blame and let their inherent suspicions do the rest. Yes, until he received his next mission, Rolo Haliburton would feel the happiest he ever felt. As if his handlers were reading his mind (and Rolo was quite aware that they could be), his phone rang. Telephones in post-war Britannia were quite the rarity, not least because only expensive satellite phones worked and even then you needed a special permit from the EU. But Mercy contained just the right mix of foreign traders, enterprising Britannians and well-equipped mercenary groups that Rolo's use of a telephone would go unnoticed. The voice was unfamiliar but that meant nothing.<p>

"Book."

"Paper."

"Central Square. West side. Man in the white coat. He will handle your debriefing."

The line disconnected. The EU monitored all satellite phones calls coming out of Britannia but the vast number of PMCs and other mercenary outfits operating in the former superpower meant that their conversation would be no doubt be lost in a sea of similarly martial communications. Rolo carefully returned the phone to his pocket and felt the blocky shape of his handgun. It felt weird. Whenever Rolo operated in the EU, he would never carry a gun around with him unless he had a kill planned in the next hour. Carrying a concealed firearm was a very good way to get arrested. But in Britannia, it seemed that carrying as many as three firearms was not unusual.

Central Square was a large open space that sat between the a bank of government offices to the east and Fort Mercy to the north (although it was not so much a fort as a collection of military offices and a long-empty motor pool for Mercy's National Guard detachment). The centre of the square had once been dominated by a large statue of Charles zi Britannia but it had been pulled down during the Hunger Riots of 2016. Now it was just a stone block and two jutting pieces that were once the statue's lower legs. Around this truncated memorial was something that could best be described as a bazaar but that went only half-way towards describing it. After all, Mercy was a trader city and most anything could be bought and sold within its borders. Brightly coloured banners enticed buyers to stalls piled high with fresh vegetables and home-made preservatives. Air-merchants hawked their imported wares: tinned food, plastic cutlery and metal tools. Foreigners coming from the coast boasted wonders like diesel engines, generators and Chinese assault weapons. Men in the mercenary uniform of pilfered military equipment and inflated egos propositioned passers-by with stories of their own heroics and horrific tales of those who venture into the wilderness without "protection". Scrap traders wandered through the crowd, exchanging insults with each other and accosting shoppers with their trays of scavenged junk in the hope that some of it was valuable. And there were more exotic attractions too. Grizzled Revenant hunters from the Dolina Diabła sold parts of their kills: Revenant eyeballs stacked in jars like ugly candy, arms and heads splayed out like a butcher's stall. Painted women (and some young boys too) advertised themselves from windows overlooking the square, calling out to potential clients below with seductive words and invented discounts. Entering into that cacophony of sights and smells and noise, Rolo's bouncy step stopped and he stared in ill disguised wonder. He had seen Pendragon at the height of its glory, visited the EU's triple capitals of Paris, Prague and Berlin and experienced both their sparkling veneer and underlying rot. He had lived for ten years in a city hollowed from solid rock and yet never in all his life had he seen a sight quite like this.

Rolo's thoughts were interrupted by a man bumping into him. He was wearing a white coat.

"Swallow."

"Amazon."

Rolo nodded and allowed himself to be led out of the chaos of the bazaar and down a side street. Two other men were waiting outside a tenant block that looked like it was only half-built. Rolo gave his newest handler a questioning look but the man gestured for him to enter so he did. It was a bare concrete room. The door was the only entrance. Rolo turned just in time to see the door slam closed. He looked down at his feet and saw a brightly coloured cylinder...

He was only just fast enough. Years of harsh training and harsher field-experience kicked in and he buried his face into the crook of his elbow, squeezing his eyes shut. The stun grenade detonation felt impossibly powerful in such a confined space. While it lacked the raw explosive power of it lethal cousins, Rolo's ears were still deafened and a bright flash still made it through his coat sleeve and closed eyelids. He reacted on instinct, not even raising the gun sights to his eye line. The first man through the door caught a bullet to his armoured chest, knocking him back and blocking the way, if only for a moment. That was all the time Rolo needed to recover, aim and send another two shots into his mirrored visor. The other two soldiers in the doorway raised their carbines but by now, Rolo had blinked away the lingering purple spots in his vision and activated his Geass. He staggered slightly, his left hand clawing at his chest but his right remained steady and he sent two shots into the frozen targets, dropping them both. With a cry, he deactivated his Geass and slumped backwards against the wall, his breath heavy. His mind raced with the implications of what had just happened. Their carbines were military-grade and European, an exceptionally rare combination even for the foreign PMCs that dominated most paramilitary duties in the former Empire. While there was no solid evidence on their bodies, Rolo suspected BSO operatives. Their mirrored visors suggested some level of knowledge about Geass. Thankfully, Rolo's was area-effect as opposed to requiring oral, ocular or tactile contact. Still, even their limited knowledge meant that the Order's integrity had been compromised. And that was unthinkable. To get at the archives they would need to have taken the Gobi Desert Facility...

The lead soldier's radio crackled. Rolo moved to pick it up but decided against it. The BSO were not some bunch of amateurs and they would not doubt keep their various teams on separate frequencies or at least change them once they realised their first team was gone. Instead, Rolo snatched one of their carbines and several magazines. His old pistol was only good for headshots against men in full combat armour and even with his Geass that would be extremely difficult. The standard EU 7mm ammunition was a better bet. He grabbed one of the more intact helmets and, after some fiddling with the straps, removed it and waved it out the door. Nothing happened. Either they did not have back-up in the immediate area or they were too professional to fire on such a cliché trick. Rolo bit his lip. He had spent too much time dealing with criminal thugs and ill-trained paramilitary units. Against EU Special Forces, his advantage was limited solely to his Geass and even that wouldn't be much help if they had snipers. But the building had no other exits and it wasn't as if he could stay there and wait for back-up. The Order had no use for agents who could not complete their duties. For the first time in a long time, he felt the bulge of his cyanide pill, sewn into the collar of his shirt. He decided to take a chance and stepped out into the road.

The bullet caught him in the upper arm. Fortunately, it did not strike bone and barely decelerated at all as it flew out the other side leaving a surprisingly clean exit wound. Not that Rolo appreciated that fact right now. It was all he could do to prevent himself from curling up in a ball and screaming at the top of his voice. Instead, he relied on his instincts and threw himself down the steps and into the street. He scrambled to his feet before the sniper could fire again and began to run down the road, erratically veering from side to side. The adrenaline was doing a good job of lessening the pain but it still hurt like he couldn't believe. His right arm flopped listlessly and whenever he tried to move it, searing lances of pain would shoot up his shoulder and cause him to stagger. The sniper fired again but Rolo's irregular sprint seemed to have worked as the bullet ricocheted twenty yards down the road. Finally, there was a turn and Rolo took it, eager to get out of the sniper's line of fire. As he flew around the corner, he almost ran into a group of traders leaving from the market. They looked at him, slightly bemused by the boy's blood stained shirt and wild expression. Then there was the awful clatter of automatic gunfire. Two of the merchants dropped, either hit or wisely ducking for cover. Rolo was not sure which. In any case, he did not intend to find out. He began to run deeper into the bazaar, hoping to lose his pursuers in the crush of bodies. They were EU after all. Despite their somewhat cavalier attitude towards Britannian civil liberties in general, they wouldn't just open fire on Britannian civilians...? There was the distinct hollow boom of mortar fire and all hell broke loose.

* * *

><p>"What's going on?"<p>

Suzaku looked up from the engine strut he was servicing. Nunnally was on top of the gasbag, patching a few leaks with some rubber pads and a battery-powered hairdryer and she was the first to realise what was happening.

"There's something going on at the Square!"

They were in Mercy's air-harbour, a collection of U-shaped beams that jutted out from the top of one of the taller buildings and allowed even the most ungainly airship to "dock" comfortably. From their high vantage point, they could see some commotion going on in the bazaar. They had been down there earlier that morning to sell some things Suzaku had picked up before they had met and also to buy a large quantity of computer scrap. Most pre-war electronics had solid sakuradite parts and there were factories up in Vancouver which would pay a healthy price for such salvageable jewels. Not a lot but enough for Suzaku's modest needs.

"Lelouch, could you grab the binoculars?"

The boy was already in the gondola so he snatched the leather cased object from its hook and passed it out the window to Suzaku. The Japanese boy peered through them at the Square.

"Holy..."

Even without the binoculars, the arching trails of mortar rounds were clearly visible against the pale blue sky. Around them, the other air-merchants began to panic.

"It's Medford! The Earl is coming for us!"

"If they could over-run Mercy's merc groups..."

"Knightmares!"

That last shout pushed most of them over the edge. They began to scramble into their machines, jostling each other and abandoning crates of cargo in their desperate hurry to leave. Medford was the only Britannian power in Oregon with access to knightmare frames. Even though they were out-dated knight police machines, they were still more than enough to send people into a blind panic. During the first stages of the Eleven Day War, Britannia had tried to invade Europe, banking on it being weakened by the Unification Wars. Unfortunately, the EU's ugly experiences in the trenches of Poland and the Ukraine had sparked unprecedented technological innovation. It was the first time that the EU deployed their Panzers against Britannia and the Empire had no counter, no way of stopping their inexorable advance. It had become a terror rooted deep in Britannia's collective psyche, that of an enemy that could not be touched by any of their weapons or halted by any conventional means. It is said that the EU Panzers only stopped when their treads had been clogged by the Britannian dead. Suzaku could feel for their panic but knew that trying to rush out of the harbour would only damage the Lancelot and thus, his chances of escaping Mercy alive. Calmly, he switched the nozzles on the gas cylinders by the docks. The Lancelot's airbag had been filled with PK, a brightly coloured gas with a smell like disinfectant. It was designed to check for leaks. To replace the PK with proper lifting gas would take ten minutes. Still, considering the awful mess in the skies as the fleeing merchants crashed into each other in their fervour to escape, there was no real point cutting it short.

"Suzaku!"

Nunnally held out her hand for the binoculars and Suzaku obliged her. She scanned the market. It was covered by thick clouds of smoke. Sometimes, she thought she could see writhing figures through the ugly haze.

"There's too much smoke for normal mortar rounds..."

"Tear gas."

All three of them looked up. Standing in the door to the stairwell was a boy of about sixteen with slightly mousy brown hair and lilac eyes. More significantly, he was clutching a wound in his right arm that was leaving a trail of dark red spots as he walked towards them. As he came closer, they could see his eyes were bloodshot and inflamed.

"You wouldn't happen to have room for..."

Before he could finish, he collapsed to the ground. Shock, fatigue, blood loss and tear gas. It was an ugly combination. Suzaku (whose heart was far too big for his own good) picked the boy up by his armpits and began to drag him towards the Lancelot. Lelouch watched him do it, a deep uneasiness in his chest. Somehow, he knew that this person was going to cause him a lot of trouble.

* * *

><p>AN

Yeah. Anya is pretty crazy... Poor Orange boy too. Still, I could not resist putting that in.

Also, I have decided to portray Rolo's Geass in a semi-realistic way. They way he used it during R2 made no sense to me. To offset the fact that Rolo using his Geass properly will allow him to utterly destroy every member of the series in close-combat, I have given it a much more dramatic effect on his heart.

Next week:

- Suzaku, Lelouch and Nunnally uncover a Refrain operation in the Lake City Ghetto in Seattle

- Zero makes Kallen face some uncomfortable truths

- More characters from the anime are introduced!


	7. Chapter 7

First, my apologies. Because of the fact that I am using a lot of throw-away characters the anime only used in one or two scenes before killing them off, I sometimes get confused. In the prologue, I mention that Knight of Nine Nonnette Enneagram was the commander who surrendered to the EU. I have since been informed (THANK YOU CODE GEASS WIKI!) that Nonnette actually has some characterisation in some of the spin-offs and I have decided it would be a waste to have her as a mentioned-only character. Therefore I have changed the Britannian commander to the Knight of Four, Dorothea Ernst (yeah, I didn't know she existed either but wikis never lie). My apologies for any confusion this may have caused.

* * *

><p>Zero worked out of a collection of sea-front warehouses which had been abandoned after the National Reclamation. While his supporters had gone to great lengths to try and make the place habitable, the damp smell of neglect still permeated the buildings. These were the headquarters of Zero's underground empire: a mismatched collection of internal dissidents, oppressed minorities and outright criminals. It was a teetering alliance but one held together by Zero's astounding charisma and their uniting hatred of Kururugi and his "State Department". All these elements collated around these warehouses which served as a safehouse, storage area, Black Market and Headquarters all at once. Right now, there was a conference of the organisation's major players to meet with their liaison from the EU. Normally a soldier like Asahina would not be required to attend but the bespectacled Captain boasted a healthy interest in politics and real news from the EU was surprisingly difficult to come by thanks to the State Department's "Media and Information Commission". As was increasingly the case, the news was less than positive.<p>

"We still have our under-the-table support through the BSO but President Wiseman is too worried about the state of the EU sakuradite reserve to openly condemn Kururugi. You must remember that the Reactionaries are held together solely by the Industrialist lobby and their hatred for the NeoPopulists."

Someone in the command centre snorted at the name of the Central Hemicycle's third largest party.

"Populists... If they wanted a socialist paradise, why don't they just go to the Chinese Federation and starve with the rest of them?"

There was some appreciative laughter at that but Zero quickly silenced it with a wave of his gloved hand to allow their EU liaison to continue.

"Regardless of the NeoPopulists' somewhat... confused message, they are the largest anti-war movement in the EU and are gaining momentum fast. Parts of the Moderates are already considering a coalition to topple the Reactionaries in the next election. Either way, the chances of the EU intervening in Japan's domestic affairs are slim to nil. The Reactionaries are too afraid of Kururugi going over to the Chinese and the NeoPopulists are isolationist at best and outright supremacist on the fringes. Under Ershov, the Reactionaries could have held their ground but now..."

Zero put a hand on the man's shoulder, both a sign that he should stop and a wordless show of support. It was remarkable how he could turn such a simple action into something that would linger with a man for days afterwards. It was paternal without being condescending, comforting without being unprofessional, personal yet still wreathed in the Zero's impenetrable mystique. Such tiny things made the difference between an inspirational leader and the almost messianic figure Zero had become. Asahina had served under all sorts of commanders in his seven year career. He had even fought under Major General Tohdoh when the man was still a Colonel. Tohdoh had been a superb military mind and an exemplar of all the best Japanese values but he lacked that intoxicating aura that Zero so effortlessly propagated. Asahina had seen such a thing only once before he had met Zero, back during the Third Pacific War: Marianne vi Britannia. The woman had been a walking contradiction, able to slip between roles as fast as her nickname implied. One moment, she could be the epitome of a doting mother, the next a ruthless general hunting down the last of her enemies and then a beacon of hope in her modified Io knightmare, able to be both the rock of the Britannian defence and the spear tip of their offence. But that had not been what made Asahina gape in wonder. It had been the graceful way she could move between them, showing the same natural ease with each one of them. She was unquestionable in every action she did, such was the confidence she exhibited at every turn. It was that same unshakable force of will which drew people to Zero.

"Gentleman, this is a crisis which may yet engulf our organisation. The EU Foreign Affairs Office account for more than thirty percent of our current funding and are our main supplier of non-combat supplies and..."

"GET ME ZERO RIGHT NOW!"

Outside the conference room, there was a deep, meaty noise followed by a truncated shout and running feet. The doors burst open and revealed a girl of about nineteen with spiky red hair and the door guard in a headlock. Her eyes scanned the room before they fell on Zero himself. With a snarl, she dropped the guard and walked purposefully towards him, violent intent radiating from her. Asahina pulled out his sidearm and was about to give the intruder a warning shot (to the knee) when Zero motioned for him to put the gun down. Their masked leader instead swivelled his chair to face the girl and crossed his legs.

"Do you have a problem, Ms Kōzuki?"

The girl did not stop advancing until her nose was almost pressed against Zero's mask.

"Yes. I do."

Asahina had never seen someone attempt to stare off a man wearing a mask before but, to her credit, the girl held her ground. They sat in a stalemate for several long seconds, Zero calm and collected and the girl glowering and resolute. At last, Zero seemed to concede the match.

"Wh..."

"Don't screw with me. You know why I am here."

The silence stretched awkwardly for another few seconds before...

"I march into your apartment in the middle of the night, shoot a man and then drop your brother's name to convince you to come with me. I then leave you in a warehouse with various unsavoury members of the population, most of which are more than willing to take advantage of a young woman such as yourself or outright condemn you for being a Japanese-Britannian halfbreed. I do not appear again for another three days, during which time you have to defend your increasingly hysterical mother from two separate physical attacks and more than twenty instances of verbal abuse. You no longer have the necessary drugs to keep your mother properly sedated and when you try and use Kaname Ohgi's name to secure supplies, you are treated with an ever greater level of disdain. Am I correct?"

Though the girl did a very good show of hiding it, Asahina noticed a flicker of shock at his words. He was not surprised. Zero had a habit of refusing to conform to people's expectations. While the girl was still collecting herself, Zero turned to Asahina.

"Captain Asahina? Could you possibly take Ms Kōzuki here up to the knightmare simulators? I believe she has some pent up energy which needs to be dissipated... _productively_. And send some people to look to the other Ms Kōzuki. They may need some minor sedatives to calm her down."

The Captain nodded and walked over to the red-haired girl. She refused to move, still trying to ignite Zero's mask with her eyes. The masked terrorist looked on, refusing to continue and acknowledge her presence. Asahina put a hand on her shoulder and she shrugged him off dismissively. The ex-soldier was not so easily put off and he grabbed one of her arms in a classic restraining grip. The girl twisted and attempted to elbow him in the face but he ducked under and trapped her other arm. If Zero noticed the scuffle behind him, he did not show it. With some effort, Asahina managed to manhandle the girl towards the door. Without looking back, Zero spoke to her.

"Shinjuku Memorial. Three this afternoon."

Then they were out of the conference room and into the damp smelling interior of one of the warehouses. She had stopped struggling for now and, after the door had been closed, Asahina released her. She gave the soldier a disgusted look but he did not rise to the challenge and simply led her towards the simulators. It was a shame. He would miss the end of the EU briefing.

* * *

><p>Despite the best efforts of Kururugi and hundreds of billions of yen, Shinjuku had never fully recovered from the gas bombing close to four years previously. Many of the buildings were abandoned and collapsing or propped up with metal girders and taxpayer's money. Four years was not enough to replace an entire district worth of people with all their quirks and nuances. A thriving area of Tokyo had been wiped out to the last man woman and child and anything which tried to replace them was just sterile and almost offensively foreign.<p>

Kallen arrived at the Shinjuku Memorial at about five past three. The place was littered with flowers to commemorate the anniversary a few weeks earlier. Kallen could see the marks on the ground where a stage had been set up so that Kururugi could spread his virulent political message, exploiting his nation's grief to support his nationalist bile. She daydreamed idly about blasting Kururugi with a knightmare like the one in the simulators (though the nerdy looking soldier Zero had designated her escort had tried to hide it, she could tell that he had been impressed by her performance) until she heard someone approach her.

It was Zero. He was not wearing his fishbowl helmet but instead, a pair of large reflective sunglasses and a breathing mask. While sakuradite technology was a lot cleaner than the gasoline and diesel stuff that the EU used, the busier parts of Tokyo were still polluted enough to made such filters relatively commonplace. He did not look at her but instead inspected the marble edifice of the memorial.

**Devoted to the 12,419 Japanese men, women and children who died on the 31rst March, 2015**

**Their dignity is eternal and their deaths unforgotten**

Kallen felt slightly uneasy. She had been ready to rip Zero a new one after his treatment of her and her mother these past few days but right now, she was unsure what to say. So they sat in silence until Zero finally spoke.

"When we first met, I mentioned your brother's name and you followed me. Why?"

Kallen was slightly taken aback. But she answered truthfully.

"I want to finish what Naoto started."

Zero did not speak for a whole minute.

"Your brother was executed on the 4th April 2015 by members of the Britannian Army. His crimes were the following: High Treason against the Empire, two counts of Murder in the First Degree, Trespassing on Government Secure Premises, Theft of Government Property, twelve counts of Murder in the Second Degree and misuse of Government Property."

Kallen looked at Zero in confusion.

"My brother..."

"Was indeed guilty of all the above crimes."

"He did it all for Japan!"

"But he still killed fourteen Britannian military officers and attempted to steal a canister of poison gas."

"That doesn't matter!"

"Really?"

For the first time, Zero turned away from the ugly memorial and looked straight at Kallen. Despite his reflective sunglasses, she could still sense a great intensity about his gaze.

"Those fourteen men had families, friends... And your brother killed them."

"Don't give me that crap! You kill people every day!"

Zero turned away. His voice was almost too quiet to hear.

"And one day, I will pay the price for all that blood..."

Kallen's mouth dropped open. He had never sounded so... human. But then he looked back at her and it was like it had never happened.

"Was he not a murderer?"

"No! He was like... a soldier!"

Yes. That was how Naoto had always described himself. A soldier for a free Japan.

"A soldier?"

Zero's laugh was chilling. Cold and humourless.

"And what does a soldier need with a canister of Sarin Gas?"

"What?"

"Sarin Gas. It's nasty stuff. If you inhale it or even if your skin makes contact, you will start to have difficulty breathing. Soon after, you will lose control of normal bodily functions and will vomit and defecate uncontrollably. Eventually, you will become comatose and ultimately die. All that can happen within a minute. There is no "dignity" about it, dying in a pool of vomit and shit."

Zero swept a disgusted hand at the gaudy marble of the memorial.

"What use could your brother have possibly had for such a weapon?"

The masked terrorist's description had shaken Kallen but that made her only more desperate to defend her brother.

"It was a threat! To persuade the Britannians to leave Japan..."

"A threat? But surely you must realise that to threaten, you must be prepared to go through with your threat?"

"He... He was not like that!"

"So, what? It was a bluff? He intended to defy an Empire by just bluffing?"

He laughed again. It was a horrible sound, streaked with deep veins of thinly veiled insanity.

"Naoto Kōzuki was not enough of a fool to believe that, we both can agree. So, I ask you again, Ms Kōzuki: was your brother deserving of the sentence handed down on him?"

"No!"

"You are lying! I can see it! You still cling to your meaningless ideals... still resolutely think that your brother was a "good" person. But deep down, you understand that he was prepared to use such an awful weapon. And against who? Chemical weapons have no scruples. They do not care about who is the oppressor and who is the oppressed. They do not care about who is innocent and who is guilty. They just kill. There was no location anywhere in Japan where a release of Sarin would have killed more Britannians than Japanese. Your brother knew that. It did not stop him."

Kallen had fallen to her knees. Her usual anger had given way to appalled grief.

"Your brother was a monster."

"No..."

Her voice was far quieter then before, barely discernable between her wracking sobs. Zero approached her and forced his face in front of hers.

"Do not think for a second that you are on the path of angels. In order to free Japan, to allow our children to be free, we must sacrifice more than just our sweat and blood but our conscience too. So, when you insist that you are following your brother's dream, a dream he and I shared, are you prepared to accept the consequences? Are you willing to defile your own soul to protect those of the unborn millions who come after us? We will kill innocents, terrorise the weak and ultimately wash the land clean with blood. We will produce a terror many times worse than anything Kururugi could ever dream of. But at the end, Japan will be free."

At that point, he stood and held up his hand. Kallen looked up at him for a moment. Then she took his outstretched hand and he pulled her to her feet. Though Zero's mouth was hidden beneath the mask, Kallen could sense a smile tugging at his lips.

"Welcome to the revolution, Kallen Kōzuki."

* * *

><p>Juliet Symes was a quite astonishingly friendly girl. People could not help but be warmed by her smiles or moved by her laughter. It was quite literally impossible to maintain any sort of bad mood in her presence, such was her bright and cheerful nature. This also made it very easy for her to do her job, specifically the accumulation of intelligence. There were a lot of things about Juliet that were not what they seemed. For example, she worked for a pseudo-terrorist organisation devoted to the utter destruction of a single individual and she was the most capable intelligence gatherer in the entire group. Also, Juliet Symes was not her real name. But the streets of Kururugi Era Japan were not exactly safe for a girl called Euphemia li Britannia.<p>

Right now, Euphemia was in the middle of chatting with a young Japanese soldier, one Staff Sergeant Kagesaki. It would be incorrect to say that Euphemia was seducing the Staff Sergeant. Sure, her looks came into play but it was a much more complex ploy than that. She was simply so... disarming in both her manner and her speech. Yet beneath all her charm, she possessed a rapier mind, honed by nineteen years spent with three of the most dangerous women the Britannian Military had ever produced: her step-mother Marianne, her sister Cornelia and her sister's long time friend Nonnette Enneagram. Her aversion to violence and natural talent for (in Marianne's words) "bending people twice around her little finger" made espionage a far more attractive option than (in Lady Enneagram's words) "charging into the enemy and fucking up their shit".

"But us Army guys... we don't go down so easy. So when the terrorist is standing over me laughing, I grab my knife real stealthy..."

Euphemia nodded, her lilac eyes wide in mock interest. Actually, it was taking all of Marianne's mental exercises to prevent her from pointing out the seventh successive plot-hole/tactical mistake/outright lie in his rambling story.

"Well, I'll save you the particulars but, rest assured, by the time I was done with him, that man was D-E-A-D!"

The girl made sure to giggle with the right mix of amazement and demure restraint that was guaranteed to send 90% of the male population into a near frenzy. She was not sure why but the more innocent she played, the more they seemed desperate to impress.

"But wherever was this? I never hear shooting over here..."

The soldier nodded.

"You wouldn't. All the real interesting stuff goes down in Kōtō."

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially.

"I heard the local section chief got himself killed a few days ago. Some State Police guy called Arai."

She raised a hand to her mouth.

"Oh my! That's terrible!"

"I know. They say that Zero operates out of Kōtō."

If he had been looking at her face and not trying to sneak glances at her chest (tastefully covered unlike some of the town's more... _promiscuous_ denizens), Kagesaki might have noticed a flicker of some indeterminable emotion in her lilac eyes. But by the time he returned his gaze to her face, all traces of it had gone and had been replaced by a masterful mix of fear and curiosity.

"Zero? The terrorist who is trying to overthrow Kururugi?"

"Yeah. But don't worry. We're going to crack down on him _hard_ in a few days."

The Japanese man put an arm around her shoulder.

"We'll be sending in the Guren Mk 2 - those terrorists don't have a chance. So don't worry. We're the army and we'll protect you. _I _will protect you..."

Euphemia nodded, her mind far away. More precisely, it was back in their provisional headquarters in a basement apartment in Shibuya. While the place was quite spacious by modern Japanese standards, it got a little cramped, especially when Darlton brought his sons. The Darlton clan was strictly speaking based in an abandoned garage several blocks away, the same place they kept their knightmares. As was Guilford but that was only when his masculine insecurities got the better of his loyalty as a Knight of Honour and he let Euphemia, Cornelia and Nonnette have some "ladies time" on their own. Cornelia was naturally offended by her needing "ladies" anything, a fact that Nonnette teased her endlessly over. They would all be very interested to hear this latest titbit about Zero. Inwardly, Euphemia smirked.

_Lady Marianne, _she thought to herself, _we may avenge you soon._

* * *

><p>In the endlessly complicated (and now obsolete) world of Britannian noble hierarchy, a Viscount of an urbanised section of land in Seattle featured pretty low. Even a wealthy commoner could get away with only a polite nod of the head instead of a full bow that might be necessary upon meeting a Marquis or higher. Yet at the same time, every day of his life, Kewell Soresi had been told that he was special, one of the chosen few upon whose combined might the Empire was built upon. Such was the paradox that had come to dominate Kewell's life. Of course, this problem would have been easily averted if he had spent more time around the commoners he was supposed to rule but Britannian social protocol required him to cavort solely with members of his own demographic, an unfortunate twist of fate that produced the rather unique situation the former Viscount found himself. While most of the major nobility had enough money squirreled away to live comfortably or were killed outright during the Second Atlantic War, minor nobility like Kewell were left with nothing. Worse still, the Soresi Family Estate was in Seattle, a city which had fallen under the dominion of Vancouver. And this was when the contradictions began to catch up to him.<p>

During his childhood, the intricate web of loyalties a noble was meant to be subject to had been hammered into his head. He had responsibilities to the Crown, to his fellow Nobles, to the Kewell Family, to his own chivalric honour and even to the people he ruled. Most of the major nobility had long since abandoned these principals in pursuit of personal profit but, as is often the case with these matters, the minor nobility continued to cling to them to compensate for their lack of any real clout beyond their name and rapidly shrinking estates. When the Twos and Europeans had marched into Seattle, Kewell had suffered a crisis. He had a duty to protect Britannia to his last breath; such was the decree of Empress Guinevere. But at the same time, he had a duty to lead his own people. While the Twos craved freedom, most Britannian commoners were far happier to be represented by their feudal lord than by some "democratic" politician. It was a rock of consistency in a world that was falling down around them and they had clung to him like shipwrecked sailors around a life preserver. Kewell had been loath to deny them that final piece of Britannian culture and had chosen to bow his head to the EU in order to preserve it. He had become the shift supervisor for a large sakuradite stripping plant in Lake City and, after a year or too, had come to enjoy simple civilian life far more than the cut-throat world of the Britannian upper class.

Suzaku had met him soon after arriving in Britannia. The Japanese boy had been looking for a place to sell his salvage and had happened across Kewell's plant. The ex-Viscount had almost turned Suzaku away (he harboured no goodwill towards the Japanese after they had killed the Eleventh's beloved commander) but he had recognised the shape of Suzaku's coat as a re-tailored version of the Ashford Academy uniform. Kewell's younger sister Marika had been a senior in Ashford at the time of the war and had been presumed dead after the Battle of Mt Hood. Filled with desperate hope about the survival of his missing sibling, Kewell had literally begged Suzaku for news of Academy and the boy, though more than a little shocked by the man's rapid change of heart, had told him that the student body were all still alive.

They had worked out a system. Kewell would buy all the salvage the Lancelot could haul and Suzaku would bring him news of his sister and carry letters between them. Well, Suzaku had been more than willing to do the service for free but Kewell's keen sense of honour prevented such a one-sided exchange so they had devised the current system. Over the course of several months, Kewell had developed a grudging respect for the young man. While his distrust of foreigners (and the Japanese especially) was far from dead, he could recognise a similar... chivalry about the way Suzaku did things that reminded him uncomfortably of himself. Suzaku too believed that Kewell, for all his gruff manner and internal confusion, was a kindred spirit: someone struggling to reassert their sense of right and wrong when everything they had previously believed was torn apart.

Still, Suzaku was pressing the bounds of their "friendship" when he appeared at the former-noble's home at three in the morning, covered in blood and escorted by three complete strangers.

* * *

><p>Dr Helena Miles had far better things to be doing with her time than helping treat charity cases after hours with expensive medical equipment that really should be reserved for paying customers. Or so she repeatedly told herself while treating the strange boy Kewell's friends had dragged in. But, like many Britannians, she had a knee jerk reaction when it came to their feudal lord telling them to do things and plus, she probably would have ended up doing it anyway. The perils of taking ones Hippocratic Oath seriously...<p>

Still, it was not all bad. The brown haired kid had offered to pay (although his offered sum was far below what she would have normally demanded for an infected gunshot wound) and the patient himself was pretty tough and had not continually demanded painkillers like some people she could mention. Apart from a minor infection in his arm, the wound was pretty simple and even with some basic antibiotics, the boy could recover within two weeks. A look from Kewell resulted in her giving him drugs which would get him back on his feet within a few days. For the hundredth time in as many seconds, Dr Miles cursed Kewell and his social rank and irresistible looks and... the rest would perhaps be better left within the confines of Dr Miles' imagination.

The patient, whose name was unknown to Kewell and the three other kids who accompanied him, was left in the lower ward (she was not about to leave an un-paying patient in the upper ward!). It was a pretty grim place, having been built solely to house all of the charity cases the doctor took in. The crowded bunks were filled to capacity and restless murmuring filled the room as patients and their families comforted each other even in sleep. As the five of them carried the unconscious boy to an open area by the window, they almost ran into a dark skinned woman wearing a torn pair of work overalls.

"I did it! I'm a Knight! That's minor nobility already."

Dr Miles hushed her, aware of that she might wake up the other patients.

"Villetta, please."

The silver haired woman refused to calm down, instead doing a clumsy pirouette, her face filled with joy.

"Nobility!"

"Dame Nu! You will calm down this instant!"

Kewell's sharp tone prompted an immediate reaction. The woman snapped into a salute.

"Yes sir, Lord Kewell."

The man looked at her sadly for a moment before ordering her to bed. She complied without complaint and immediately lay down on her abandoned bed. Dr Miles reached between the sheets and removed a dirty vial of reddish liquid.

"Refrain."

The three kids looked at it, innocent confusion on their faces. After they had placed the wounded boy on a bed and returned to the small but deserted corridor, the doctor gave them an explanation.

"It's a psycho-tropic. Makes you relive memories of the past. According to rumour, Britannia developed it back in the day to pacify the Areas. Now it's probably the most profitable business in the entire homeland. The ghettos here are full of users. All it does is create tragedy for the families and give the police more reason to crack down on us Britannians."

The girl almost teared up at that. Dr Miles wondered when was the last time she saw such childishness. In the ghettos, tears were just wasted effort. Even among the youngest children, there was an emptiness about them that pierced Miles' chest like an accusing finger. It was part of the reason she started taking in charity cases to begin with.

"That is... terrible."

The other two kids looked slightly strange. The dark haired one seemed to be deep in thought while the brown haired one had his hands clenched into fists. Then, the brown haired one stormed out of the building, his face dark with anger. His two companions ran after him. Lord Kewell made no attempts to stop them. Dr Miles gave him a questioning look and he shrugged as if to say "hey, they aren't _my _kids". But then his expression grew dramatically harder.

"You told me that she was off of that stuff."

Dr Miles bit her lip. Refrain addiction was a... difficult matter. Unlike most drugs, Refrain affects people deep in their Synapse Circuits. Over time, they become resistant to the increased Dopamine levels. If you deny them the drug, their Dopamine levels fall too rapidly and they can suffer memory loss and in extreme cases, the brain damage may spread to the hypothalamus, an event which inevitably leads to a slow, debilitating death. Of course, not many people understood that. All they saw was the doctors giving addicts more of the drug which ruined their lives in the first place. Dr Miles sighed and resigned herself to another sleepless night. Why did she feel the need to help people?

* * *

><p>Vladivostok was the EU's only port on the Pacific and the headquarters for the entire Pacific Fleet. Before 1910, it was a relatively small city but the sakuradite boom of the mid twentieth century made it the main route for Japanese extracted sakuradite into Europe, especially after Britannia closed the Panama Canal to EU shipping after the Eleven Day War. Then Sawasaki signed the Treaty of Kyōto, seizing the assets of European based companies and handing them over to Britannian ones in exchange for the Empire's military assistance. Vladivostok was reduced, once more, to a military port. Urban decay began to set in and even the vast influx of military money to counter Britannian expansionism in the Pacific did little to reverse the process. But then in 2016 Sawasaki was overthrown and Kururugi was more than happy to sell sakuradite to the EU or indeed anyone who was willing to pay his extortionate prices. By the time the Seventh Army liberated Vancouver, Vladivostok had become the largest city in the Russian far-east with a population approaching three million. Since the fall of Britannia, it has only been growing larger and larger. It is Europe's pathway to her allies in the former Area 2 as well as the Sea of Japan and the most significant military presence of any city on EU soil, both to check the Chinese and for operations in Britannia.<p>

And any port with a healthy military presence will always have one thing in near infinite supply: partially-inebriated military officials looking for a good time. Four such young men were just leaving their quarters, ready to enjoy their last few hours of leave before they were dispatched for "peace keeping operations" in the insurgent infested refugee cities of the former Britannian Empire. Despite being only a few years out of the Academy, they were all officers, a testament to the brutal officer attrition rates in the MEF and Britannia as well as the massive military expansion the EU was going through to keep the aforementioned locales out of Chinese and partisan hands (respectively). The leader of their group was one Diederik Iemker, a Dutch Captain who had visited the port once before and was very eager to be reacquainted with a certain establishment he had discovered, a type which flourished in towns like Vladivostok. The French call them "une maison close" but Diederik, being quite a forward man, simply referred to it as a "whorehouse". Unfortunately for the Dutchman (and to the badly concealed relief of two of his companions), they were stopped before they could leave by a large man in the uniform of a Warrant Officer, First Class. While the officers in their group all outranked him, (they ranged from a Major to a Lieutenant, Second Class), this man was clearly a veteran of the Second Atlantic War and definitely deserved some respect from the untested young officers.

"Major Nikitin?"

One of the four (still slightly relieved about not having to visit "une maison close") stepped forward.

"Y-yes?"

"The Colonel wants to see you."

The Russian Major glanced left and right but his three companions failed to offer anything but a few reassuring smiles and, in Diederik's case, a promise to "reserve one". Unfortunately for the Captain, his comment was overheard by the Warrant Officer's companion, a fellow Captain with sandy blonde hair and a faint scowl on her face.

"As Regimental Medical Officer for the 201rst, I would have thought that you would have better sense than to give half the Battalion HQ infections from one of the whorehouses in the city."

Then she smiled in a somewhat disturbing manner.

"Perhaps you would like to hone your skills by helping the woman in the town with their various ailments?"

The young Dutchman began to stutter a response but the blonde Captain already had an arm around his shoulder in a faux-friendly manner. Her smile only widened as she spoke over him.

"I think that is an inspired idea, Captain Iemker. We will head on down there straight away while the Colonel deals with Major Nikitin. I hear that there has been an outbreak of Candidiasis, you know, that yeast infection..."

While the blonde woman lead (or dragged) Nikitin's former companions out of the compound, the Warrant Officer introduced himself.

"Feliks Rajkowski. I will be serving as the Regimental Sergeant Major on the 201rst headquarters staff."

Nikitin took Rajkowski's offered hand.

"Petr Nikitin."

The Warrant Officer smiled.

"And that was Captain Wheeler. She's the Colonel's adjutant and the scariest woman I have ever met. I think Captain Iemker will try and stay on her good side after tonight."

The Russian Major nodded, somewhat bemused by the rapid string of events. Rajkowski lead him back into the compound and towards one of the smaller presentation rooms. The lights were off and all they could see from the door was the outline of someone staring at a screen.

"Colonel?"

The man started slightly at the Warrant Officer's voice and turned.

"Ah, Major!"

He stood, knocking his chair back a little and offered a hand.

"Adler Erwin Rommel. I will be your commander during you tour of Briannia."

Nikitin nodded. He had heard that the 201rst Commander had been called away on BSO business and had missed the unit's founding ceremony. (Ex)Brigadier Genamann had presided over the ceremony instead.

"Here. I want to show you something."

The Colonel waved Nikitin over to the screen he had been gazing at. The Russian leaned in and the Colonel typed a command into the computer. The screen flickered slightly before revealing a slightly grainy video shifting in the swooping circular style of a UAV.

It showed a squad of eight men walking slowly through a pitted street. The buildings on either side were pockmarked by gunfire and some were burning, casting long nightmarish shadows. Shiny pools of inky blackness lingered like strange halos around collapsed bodies in strange white clothes. To the north of the squad there was a small plaza. Playing over the macabre video feed was the audio log for the unit in question.

**Claymore 2, we have possible contact north of your position.**

**Copy that, Overlord. We'll verify.**

The squad's relaxed but wary postures changed almost immediately into full battle readiness. They all checked their rifles and heavy visored helmets before moving out. With infinite caution, they picked their way through the rubble towards the plaza. After a few minutes, the eight men had set themselves up in firing positions all along the outside of the plaza.

**No contact, Overlord.**

A figure in the centre of the plaza stirred. It might have been mistaken for an odd shadow but it moved with all the vicious intent of a lion on the prowl.

**Claymore 2, we have a visual on a hostile moving towards your position.**

**Nothing on the scope, Overlord. **

The shadow moved steadily towards the soldiers, beginning to break into a loping run.

**Contact moving towards you, Claymore 2!**

**We've got nothing, Overlord. Are your machines malfunctioning?**

One of the soldiers stood to get a better view. The figure stopped just in front of him and made a movement as if brushing some lint off his front. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the man collapsed, a visceral spray of blood released from his jugular.

**Holy sh...**

**Overlord? What's going on?**

**Hurry! Concentrate fire on its position!**

**What are you talking about, Overlord?**

**It just took out your pointman!**

**Henri? What do you mean? He's fine.**

The figure began to walk towards another soldier. The man was kneeling, his rifle braced on a fallen pile of bricks. With painful ease, the figure stepped over the barricade and drove a blade into the man's kidney.

**Oh god!**

**Overlord?**

The man collapsed to one side. His expression was one of grim faced determination. No surprise or pain or fear...

**Are you another man down?**

**No. All eight men are accounted for.**

There was a pause.

**Something must be screwing with our sensors. Let me bring another UAV up.**

There was a long burst of static on the screen before the scene reappeared, this time looking down from the south east. In the intervening time, another three soldiers had been cut down by the shadow. The three remaining looked completely unconcerned even though one of them was visibly splattered with his partner's blood.

**Claymore 2? What's your status?**

**Everything is all right. Can I ask why you keep asking?**

**The camera input we're getting... it shows half your squad down.**

**That's the strangest thing I've ever heard. We're OK, aren't we Tomas?**

One of the EU soldiers grabbed his partner by the shoulder, seemingly unaware that the man's throat had been cut so violently that it was lolling back at an almost ninety degree angle. Before command could say anything more, the shadow walked over to the last man.

**Everyone seems perfectly...**

On the screen, the shadow pulled its knife from the soldier and walked slowly away. Over the radio, the man's voice was ragged and pained.

**...fine. Everything is fine...**

The screen blinked and turned off.

Nikitin turned to his new commander, his face pale. Surely this was some kind of joke, a prank to be played on the newcomer?

"W-What was that?"

The Colonel smiled. It was not a ha-you-should-have-seen-your-face sort of smile but one that was almost sad, like how a parent might look when they first have to explain to their child that adults can make mistakes too.

"_That_ is the 201rst very first objective."

* * *

><p>Hooray! I finally have introduced all FIVE of the Memory Game's main plot lines: Lelouch and Nunnally, Kallen and Zero, Euphemia and Cornelia, Anya and Orange and the EU characters. Whew! Now we can get on with the meat of the story...<p>

Now, I was wondering if there is anyone who is willing to beta read for me. My main worry is that the AU nature of the universe is harming my characterisations and I want to try and maintain some of the essence of the characters from the anime (otherwise, this isn't really a fanfic). If someone is willing to advise me on how I handle my characters (NB they may be exposed to spoilers) please send me a PM or mention something in a review and I will try and get back to you.

Thanks for reading.


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